


Dreams Can Come True

by Heatherlayne



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Dreams, F/M, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-03-05
Updated: 2005-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 05:33:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 14
Words: 59,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18004769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heatherlayne/pseuds/Heatherlayne
Summary: Over the course of a year, Severus and Hermione realize their growing feelings for one another. In the end, though, is there really anything they can do about them? Takes place Hermione’s 7th year, and was written just after OotP (book) was released.(I'm archiving this here from friggin' fanfiction.net *spits* so I can find it again if I ever want to. From 2005!!!)





	1. Prologue

Prologue

Severus Snape sighed, put down his book, got up from his wingback chair by the fire, and crossed the room to the cupboard where he kept his personal supply of potions. He hated to take a sleeping draught, but it was two in the morning and he had Monday exams to give in a few short hours. He needed to rest in order to be prepared for the first years at 8:30. He'd like to slip a little swelling solution (or worse) into the morning pumpkin juice of whoever made up the exam schedules. Since that person was Minerva McGonagall, however, he thought that would be a very bad idea.

He found the bottle of purple syrup and pulled it out of the cupboard. Severus took a measuring spoon from a bottom drawer and carefully filled it with the sleeping draught. He gulped it down, grimacing at the tang of wormwood. He hesitated a moment, then poured out another spoonful and took that too. Already a bit woozy, he muttered a cleansing spell over the spoon and replaced it in the drawer, returned the bottle to the back of the cabinet and headed for his bedroom.

Severus had been sleeping poorly for weeks. It was the last week before Christmas break and he hadn't gotten a full night's sleep since the start of term feast. He'd been having awful nightmares involving snakes, Death Eaters—alive and long dead—participating in their awful dark revels, and a high pitched, evil laughter he recognized as belonging to the Dark Lord. He'd wake up in the middle of the night soaked in sweat, not sure if the scream lingering in the air was his or a remnant of his nightmare.

If it wasn't nightmares depriving him from sleep, it was the thought of them. He'd sit in his chair by the fireplace, staring off into nothing as the logs burned down to embers, trying to think of anything but the darkness and horror that sleep would bring. A few times he'd stayed awake the whole night through, terrified of the recurring nightmares and furious at himself for being paralyzed with fear over simple, meaningless images his mind conjured up in sleep. In the morning he would arise from his chair, stiff, even more surly than usual. He'd scowl over his breakfast, sneer at the other professors and strike out at his students for the smallest provocation. The days after those totally sleepless nights usually ended with at least one student in tears, and twice the usual number of detentions. He'd given a third year Ravenclaw detention last week for knocking over a jar of lacewings, and even he had to concede that was a bit harsh. But when one got ten or twelve hours of sleep per week, one tended to get cranky.

Tonight, though, he thought to himself, I shall get six solid hours of dreamless sleep. Six, he unbuttoned his crisp white shirt, solid, threw it on the trunk at the foot of his four poster bed, hours, and collapsed onto the mattress without removing his socks or trousers. He didn't even get under the blankets. Within seconds he was asleep.

...

Hermione Granger sighed, put down her book, got up from the armchair by the fire, and crossed the Gryffindor common room to the girls' dormitories. She wished she could take a sleeping draught since it was two in the morning and she needed to be rested for her pre-Christmas exams that would take place in a few short hours. Three exams in one day! She'd like to slip a hair-raising potion (or worse) into the morning tea of whoever made up the exam schedules, but since that person was her head of house she thought that wouldn't be a terribly great idea.

She found the doorknob to her dormitory room and pulled it open. She trudged to her bed, shedding clothes on the way. Lavender snored gently and Parvati tossed in her sleep as Hermione pulled an oversized black t-shirt with "Mind the Gap" in bold white letters on the front over her head and fell back into the four-poster bed. She snuggled down into the many blankets and pillows and closed her eyes. She wanted to just shut her brain off; she was thinking too much about her exams.

In Transfiguration there was a practical exam of turning a broom into a bureau, but none of the Gryffindor quidditch players would loan her their broom to practice on. She'd asked Professor McGonagall to let her use one of the regular brooms kept in the classroom for the sole purpose of transfiguration, and she'd practiced on it all weekend, but had to return it to the professor earlier in the evening. It wasn't terribly difficult; after all, both broom and bureau were made of wood. Beginning with the same substance you wanted to end up with always made Transfiguration much easier. That and… and… how else was it easy? Her mind was beginning to fog, though she was still as awake as ever.

Then there was her written Astronomy exam. That would be a piece of cake. Memorizing hard facts, such as the names of planets' moons and their phases were especially simple for Hermione. The practical exam wasn't until midnight on Wednesday.

Finally, after lunch would come her potions exam. She suppressed a shudder at the mere thought. Thankfully it was almost Christmas break, so this was the last time she would have to put up with Professor Snape for three weeks. He'd been particularly nasty lately. The exam included a practical portion as well as a written portion. In the practical portion, the students would have to make a burn-healing paste from memory—they would have no list of ingredients or instructions, only their wands and cauldrons. The written portion would be a random list of common potion ingredients and the students would have to write down at least three potions each ingredient was used in. Hermione considered getting her flashcards out of her bag for one last review, and got as far as taking her wand from her nightstand and whispering, "Lumos," before she remembered what time it was. She really ought to go to sleep.

"Nox," she whispered. The light at the tip of her wand dimmed and went out. After kicking off the covers, she aimed the tip of her wand at her forehead and murmured, "Wingardium leviosa." It had taken quite a bit of practice to levitate herself, but she had found out in her fifth year that when she was stressed about taking her O.W.L.s, it helped her relax and get to sleep. Clutching her wand, she rolled over and over in midair, trying not to giggle. It was such fun!

After ten minutes of spinning and floating around her large bed (she was thankful for the curtains all around it; she wouldn't want anyone to catch her looking this silly) she stretched out on her back, placed her wand on her chest, still pointing at her head, and closed her eyes. She knew that as she drifted off to sleep, the spell would wear off and she would drift gently back onto the bed. She slept so deeply that she hardly ever rolled over, so there was no danger of the wand rolling off and dumping her back on the mattress. Within minutes, she was asleep.


	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Severus hurriedly gulped his strong black tea, scalded his mouth, swallowed quickly, scalded his throat, slammed his mug down on the desk angrily and sloshed scalding tea on his hand and a stack of papers. Biting back a yell of frustration, he barked a cooling charm with his wand pointing in his open mouth. Sighing, he took a last bite of his soft-boiled egg and dried the papers with a wave of his wand. Damn house elves! Should have made the tea myself! However, since he awoke ten minutes before he needed to give the first exam of the day, he had no time to make his own tea. When he did wake up, the house elf that had left his breakfast tray on the desk in the living room was gone, so he had no one to take his anger out on. (If the elves noticed he was not at breakfast in the Great Hall, which was often, they would bring his meal to him.)

When the dawn light crept through the narrow windows near the ceiling of his dungeon bedroom somewhere between six and seven that morning, Severus, being a light sleeper, immediately woke up just enough to wave his wand at the curtains. They thickened so no light entered the room. He fell back asleep only to be awoken at eight by his alarm clock. The annoying object was a Christmas gift from Headmaster Dumbledore some years back, so no matter how much Severus hated it (and he did) he couldn't exactly get rid of it. It was a hula dancer about a hand span tall and could be set by pushing buttons on the bottom of the base, which was shaped like a coconut. The time was displayed in red numbers across her belly. When the time came for the alarm to go off, she swayed her hips so her grass skirt swung and danced to "Aloha Oi." Each morning after he woke up and silenced the thing, Severus transfigured it into a cube of shining black hematite, but after classes each afternoon it would be back to a hula dancer. Much as he admired Albus Dumbledore, Severus thought the man insane.

However this morning after he transfigured it, he fell back asleep instead of getting up. Twenty minutes later he was awoken by the sound of students in the corridors rushing to their first exam. Glancing sleepily at the clock on the wall opposite his bed, he leapt up, suddenly completely awake. Still wearing the rumpled trousers he fell asleep in last night, he grabbed the first robe he found from his closet and didn't bother putting a button-down shirt on under it. He knew he'd be freezing in an half an hour, since the dungeons were always so frigid, especially in December, but he had no time. Storming into the living room he found his usual breakfast—two five-minute eggs, a piece of buttered toast and a mug of tea—on his desk. He ate the toast as he brushed through his oily hair, twice as bad as usual today since he hadn't had time for a shower before breakfast. After that came the unfortunate tea incident. Then he put on his boots, stuffed his wand in his pocket, and stomped through the wall behind his desk. It was the doorway to a hidden corridor that led to his office adjacent to the Potions classroom. This had the pleasant and rather amusing effect of causing the students to think he lived in his office, since that was where they left him in the afternoon after classes, and that's where he appeared from every morning.

Entering his office, he took a deep breath, made sure the wall behind him was sealed, and strode through the door to his classroom. "Good morning," he sneered. The first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs trembled. He sniffed the air with his prominent nose. He could almost smell their fear. The corners of his thin lips lifted ever so slightly. The morning was perhaps improving.

...

Hermione sipped her pumpkin juice as she reviewed her Astronomy flashcards one more time. She was interrupted in the middle of Jupiter's moons by Ron, who was sitting across the Gryffindor table from her. "Hermione, give it a rest! You're going to ace all your exams and you know it!"

"My good grades are due to the amount of work I put in. I'm just looking over these once more. I won't get a chance between now and the exam."

"Want me to quiz you?" Harry offered from his seat to her left. He yawned widely.

"No," she sighed. "I suppose I should put them away. Thanks though." She stowed the cards back in her bag and started on her scrambled eggs. "You look tired, Harry, have you been sleeping all right?"

"Oh, yeah, pretty much," he said. "Just… up studying a bit late."

"Me too. So what exams do you two have today?"

"Well," Ron mumbled with his mouth full of toast, "It's Herbology first, then Divination. After lunch is…"

"Defense Against the Dark Arts," Harry finished for him.

"Oh, right. I knew that." Having no more to say, Ron finally swallowed his mouthful of food.

"Why must you always talk with your mouth full?" Hermione asked, irritated.

"What?" Ron responded after taking a bite of pancakes.

"Never mind," she sighed. "Well I know you'll do excellent in D.A.D.A. Harry."

"Well…" he muttered, hanging his head.

"No, you know you will. You're great at it."

"Good thing, too," Ron added, his mouth, empty for once. "After last June with You-Know-Who and all." The trio nodded grimly, remembering how very near death Harry had been after his last encounter with Voldemort. "I mean, if Dumbledore hadn't gotten there in time…"

"I know," Harry said rather more loudly than he meant to. He obviously didn't want to discuss it any further.

"Well, good luck on your exams, boys," Hermione said after a short, awkward silence. "I'm sure you'll both do well. Although, why are you taking Herbology for your N.E.W.T.s if you've got your hearts set on being aurors?"

"We wanted a couple easy classes, you know, so we could concentrate on the important ones, like Defense Against the Dark Arts," Ron said.

"That's why I'm taking Astronomy. I wanted one easy class so I could focus on Advanced Potions, Advanced Transfiguration, Ad—"

"Advanced Arithmancy, Advanced everything," Harry continued. "What are you going to do after Hogwarts that you need all these advanced classes for?"

"I want to go to university, but I'm still not sure what for. Being a witch from a Muggle family, it's interesting to compare the two worlds. I'd like to study how magic and Muggle science could be used together, maybe."

"That's rubbish," Ron said. "It'll never work. After thousands of years of wizards and Muggles being separated, fighting, even, you think suddenly they'll all want to work together in peace and ruddy harmony?"

"No, of course not, Ron. I just think wizards and witches should be more accepting of Muggles and how they live. Wizards could make use of electricity, and… oh, I don't know about how Muggles would react to magic, but that's why I want to study it, see?"

"Not really, but whatever floats your boat."

Hermione hmmfed and finished her scrambled eggs. Harry observed his empty plate for a moment and rubbed his reddened eyes. "All right, well, I guess we'd better get going," Harry said as he stood up.

"Yeah, I guess so." Ron and Hermione stood also and the three Gryffindors strode out of the Great Hall to their exams.

...

The morning had passed rather slowly for Severus. After the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, he had to deal with the fourth year Slytherins and Gryffindors. What a headache. During lunch he returned to his rooms to put on a shirt. His hands were so frozen by then he could hardly handle the buttons, but after putting on his robes he performed a warming charm over them and felt slightly more comfortable.

Returning to his classroom by way of the hidden corridor, he sighed contentedly at the thought of the next exam: Seventh year Advanced Potions. Only a few students from each house had done well enough in his class the past six years to be accepted into his advanced class, so there would only be twelve students taking this exam. Finally, a break from the mind-numbing futility his day had been so far. These students knew how to take care of themselves. For the most part they earned top marks as well. It was a welcome relief from the bunch of dunderheads he usually had to teach.

With a wave of his wand, all but a dozen of the desks disappeared. With another flick and muttered phrase, foot-high dividers appeared around the edges of all the desks, shielding whatever would take place on them from the view of others. He didn't trust students not to cheat; not even the cream of the crop in his advanced class.

Severus had just turned to enter his office, there to await the arrival of the students, when the classroom door opened and shut quietly. He whirled around, wand gripped tightly at his side. He relaxed when he saw it was only a student, but tensed again when he saw who it was; that despicable know-it-all Granger. Though she was at the top of her class, polite, helpful and always earning high marks, the only reason he could stand her now was because she wasn't trailing along on Harry Potter's coattails, constantly defended by that red-headed Weasley boy. "Oh, P-professor," she stuttered. "I didn't see—I mean I didn't think you'd be here yet. I just wanted to, um, get my things set up, get in a bit of last-minute studying." She stood by the door, bag halfway off her shoulder, bushy brown hair frizzing every which way about her face. Severus sneered at her. "So, um, I'll just…" she trailed off, cowering beneath his gaze, and walked slowly to a desk at the back, keeping her eyes on the ground. Saying nothing, Severus continued to the door to his office, swinging it shut so it banged loudly. He repressed a snicker imagining how she jumped.

...

Hermione swung her bag up onto a desk at the back of the classroom, berating herself for her mouse-like behavior in front of Professor Snape. She sat in the front row of nearly all her classes, but stayed to the back in Potions out of habit. After five years of staying in the rear of the room with Ron and Harry, she couldn't get used to the idea of sitting up front, even after a year in the Advanced class without her friends. She reserved that special position for Snape's beloved Slytherins. Not surprisingly there were five Slytherins in the advanced class, but only three Ravenclaws, three Gryffindors including herself, and one Hufflepuff. Among the Slytherins were Draco Malfoy and his leech Pansy Parkinson. That's what she was, really. She couldn't go for more than two minutes without direct physical contact with Draco. It was sickening.

Hermione knew she was never that revolting with Viktor her fourth year, and certainly not with Ron last year. She was glad they both decided they were better off as friends. After the Halloween feast their sixth year, Ron nervously invited her outside for a walk. It was freezing cold and they were both shivering. Trying to be nonchalant, Ron put his arm around her. A moment later he pulled her to him for an awkward, stumbling kiss. They looked at each other for a long time, and then cracked up. It had felt like she was kissing her brother. It seemed like they'd always been friends, and she knew they always would be.

Sighing, she steered her mind towards Potions. She walked to the back wall and tapped the empty shelf there with her wand while clearly stating her name. Her cauldron, inscribed with the initials H.J.G., appeared on it. She grabbed her cauldron and brought it back to her desk, dodging the other students that had come in and were now retrieving their own cauldrons. Then she removed her quill and inkpot from her bag and filled her quill with ink using a spell she'd recently learned in Charms. This way she wouldn't need to dip it over and over. After she returned the inkwell to her bag, she sat up straight and took a few deep breaths. It made exam-taking slightly more pleasant and less stressful by clearing her mind and calming her body. Calm, calm, calm, she chanted to herself like a mantra. It helped. She felt calm.

That is, she did until Snape stormed back into the room, black robes billowing behind him. "Clear your desks of everything but cauldrons, quills and wands." Snape paused and waited for the shuffling of books and bags to cease. "You have an hour and a half in which to finish both the written and practical portions of this exam. In a moment I will pass out the written part. When you are finished, leave the paper on my desk and gather the ingredients you will need to make a burn-healing paste." He waved his wand and several empty glass jars appeared on each desk. "Put only what you need in the jars and return the ingredients to the shelves. If I notice any wandering eyes, the student they belong to will be asked to leave this classroom and not return. Am I understood?" The class nodded silently. "Begin." A stack of papers flew off his desk and distributed themselves throughout the room. Hermione wrote her name across the top of it and began.

Next to each ingredient, write three potions said ingredient is used in, she read. The first one was frozen ashwinder eggs. Love potion, she wrote, then nibbled her fingernails as she thought of two others. In a moment she had finished with number one and moved on. Numbers two and three were fluxweed and knotgrass. That's easy, she thought. I've known that since my second year! She wrote down Polyjuice Potion next to each, and then came up with two more potions they were used in. Number four was dragon's blood. She knew it could be used alone as a very effective oven cleaner, but it was also an ingredient in many potions.

Thirty minutes later she filled in Draught of Peace on the third line next to powdered moonstone, checked her answers, and went to place it on Professor Snape's desk. He was seated, looking through his grade book. She smiled at him as she put her parchment on the stack near his elbow, but he just glared up at her. The smile slid off her face and she turned to the potions cabinet to the left of his desk. After gathering what ingredients she needed, she left them on her desk, and then went to the cupboard on the rear wall, behind Hannah Abbot's desk, to get the last few ingredients. Just as she closed the cupboard door with her elbow, her arms full of bottles and jars, the potion in Hannah's cauldron exploded. Hermione was so startled she dropped every single item she was carrying. Day-glow green smoke filled the air along with bits of shattered glass. Everyone in the classroom froze.

Severus stood up slowly, jaw clenched, and swept down the aisle to the back of the room, his black robes making the smoke in the air swirl madly.

"Miss Granger!" he barked, black eyes flashing. "Do you have any idea how expensive bezoar stones are?" He gestured to the glass fragments mixed with cracked and broken bezoar stones, dried lacewings and reddish goo that was once frog brains.

"I'm sorry, sir," Hermione said, hanging her head. "I was startled—"

"It's my fault, Professor," Hannah cut in. "I added the dragon scales before the—"

"Before the frog brains, yes, and the resulting explosion caused Miss Granger to destroy scores of galleons of school property. Thirty points each from Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." Hannah fought back tears while Hermione clenched her teeth in anger.

"I'll clean it up, sir," Hermione offered.

"Yes you most certainly will. You will also pay for the ruined ingredients." He turned his back on Hermione. "Miss Abbot, I suggest you either attempt to correct your potion, or throw it out and start over. Both of you keep in mind, however, that there are forty-five minutes of class time remaining."

Hannah took her cauldron to the sinks at the side of the room to rinse the ruined potion down the drain, tears flowing down her cheeks. Hermione bent to clean up the glass-and-goo mess. She murmured "Reparo" at the bottles, which reassembled themselves immediately, but the ingredients were too ruined to save so she scooped them into a dustbin.

Suddenly, Severus had an idea. "Miss Granger, for your ineptitude, I will see you here at eight o'clock Friday night for a detention." She stood and glared at him, the dustbin in her hand full of the mess she had made, her face red with rage, Severus noted, as well as shame.

"Yes, sir," she responded, her anger barely in check. Pleased with himself, Severus strode back to his desk amid snickering Slytherins.

...

"I can't believe it!" Ron shouted over the din of the Great Hall at supper that evening. "A Friday night detention! That's the last day of exams! You'll miss the celebrations and everything!"

"He did it on purpose," Harry said, "just to ruin your fun."

"I know he did, the greasy git," muttered Hermione. Ron and Harry laughed.

"So I might as well enjoy what time I have with you two until then. Ron, you and Ginny are leaving on the train Saturday to go home for Christmas, right?"

"Yep. The whole family's coming this year. Bill's got a new girlfriend, Julie or Julia, something like that." Ron began ticking his siblings off on his fingers. "Charlie's taking a break from the dragons. Percy'll be there, though mum had to guilt-trip him something awful to get him to actually leave the Ministry for more than five minutes. And Fred and George are closing up the joke shop for a whole week, though I'm not sure they'll actually be able to stay away that long."

"That'll be fun, I'm sure." Hermione smiled at the thought of all nine Weasleys in one house once again. "Haven't had the lot of you together for a long time."

"And I'm staying here, of course," Harry said reaching for another helping of Yorkshire pudding. "Unless I want to watch Dudley open about a million presents, get attacked by Ripper and put up with Aunt Marge's constant complaining about my hair, my height, my clothes, and my existence in general."

"Lucky I'm staying here to keep you company then, eh?" Hermione asked.

"Yeah. Thanks a lot, Hermione; I don't know what I'd do here without you."

"Well, you could study. Our N.E.W.T.s are just five months away."

"Um, yeah, I could… But why on earth would I? It's the holidays!"

"My sentiments exactly," Ron said. "Why don't we open our presents from each other after Hermione's detention on Friday? Since we can't all do it on Christmas."

"Good idea, Ron," Hermione said.

They laughed and talked through the rest of their supper so that Hermione almost forgot about her detention in four days. Glancing up at the head table, however, she caught a glimpse of Snape, and her spirits plummeted. She sighed, but cheered herself up slightly by thinking, How bad can it really be? I'll be scrubbing cauldrons or restocking the storage shelves. It'll be fine. Except for the whole putting-up-with-Snape thing. Ugh. Oh well. I'll survive. I hope…


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

At seven-fifty on Friday night, Hermione walked briskly down the stairs to the dungeons. No use dreading it and trudging along, she thought. Don't want to be late. I can just see it now… "Miss Granger! Fifty points from Gryffindor! No, a hundred! A thousand!" She chuckled, thinking that if Snape could take off that many points, he would.

She heard scuffling sounds from around the corner as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Oh great, she thought, grasping her wand inside her robe pocket. Just what I need: to run into a pack of Slytherins. She braced herself and turned the corner to see it was a pair, and not, thankfully, a pack. Unfortunately, the pair was Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. Pansy was pushed up against the wall with Malfoy shoved close to her. His hand was in a very inappropriate place beneath her robes, but Pansy didn't seem to mind. She giggled and kissed him, using a lot more tongue than Hermione thought necessary.

She cleared her throat and the two looked her way, obviously startled. "Ten points apiece from Slytherin for inappropriate P.D.A."

Malfoy drew back from Pansy and regarded Hermione with his iciest glare. "I'll display my affection as publicly as I want, mudblood!" he spat.

"Not in front of the Head Girl, you won't, ferret," she replied calmly. She was pleased to notice that even after more than three years that muscle in his jaw still twitched at the use of his nickname. Malfoy grabbed Pansy's hand and pulled her down the hallway past Hermione, who let a small smile creep across her face. "Oh, Miss Parkinson, you may want to adjust your robes," she said sweetly, staring at the girl's backside. Pansy turned her head as far as it would go and gasped as she yanked the tail of her robe—and skirt—out of the back of her underwear.

"You wait, Granger," Malfoy snarled at her down the hall, a very red-faced Pansy by his side. "You're going to get it!"

"Really?" she asked amusedly. "Who's going to give 'it' to me?"

"You-Know-Who," the boy replied darkly.

"What, you can't even say his name? Maybe you're not as good a little Death Eater as you think you are." Malfoy fumed, bright pink spots standing out on his pale cheeks. "Can I see your little Dark Mark? Or… do you not have one?" Hermione continued innocently. "Maybe your father—" she ducked as a red streak of light shot towards her from Malfoy's wand.

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" Malfoy shouted, the spots on his cheeks turning a brighter shade of red.

Standing calmly and smoothing her robes, she said, "Ten more points from Slytherin for trying to hex a student in the halls. Goodnight, ferret." With more confidence than she felt, Hermione turned on her heel and strode down the corridor towards the Potions classroom, keeping alert for any threatening sounds. Once she turned another corner, she sighed with relief, checked over her shoulder once more, and continued towards her detention, wondering how that bratty little weasel had ever made her cry.

...

At seven-fifty-nine on Friday night, Severus leaned back in the chair behind his desk in the Potions classroom. Granger has forty-nine seconds to arrive on time, or else she'll have weekly detentions until her graduation! he thought to himself as he surveyed the bottles and jars he had set out on the student desk nearest his own. The cauldron was ready, and a sharp knife was set out next to the cutting board. Fifteen seconds, he thought.

Just then three sharp raps sounded at the classroom door. Without waiting for an answer, Miss Granger strode in, her cheeks faintly flushed and a small smile playing about her lips. Catching the death-glare Severus was giving her, she exclaimed wide-eyed, "I'm not late, am I?" Her cheeks turned pinker and her smile disappeared. For an answer, the clock on the wall above Severus' desk began its eight chimes announcing the hour. "Oh, good." She sighed with relief and walked toward him.

Severus sniffed and remained seated. "You will prepare a double batch of sleeping draught tonight, Miss Granger," he said gesturing at the items on the desk. "Madam Pomfrey has requested some. While you are brewing the potion, I will finish grading exams so I will, for once, be free from even the thought of students over the holiday. Begin." Without another word, he removed a sheaf of parchments from the bottom drawer of his desk, took a raven-feather quill from a pot of red ink and began making violent-looking check marks down the side of the top page. Granger left a small pile of galleons on his desk in payment for the shattered bezoar stones, then stepped over to the desk and lit a fire under the cauldron.

Madam Pomfrey did request some sleeping draught, Severus thought to himself, rubbing his bloodshot eyes. But I'm sure she won't mind if I keep a bottle or two for myself. Somehow he knew his nightmares would not improve any time soon They'd been getting steadily worse as the week had worn on.  
...

Although she was serving her first detention in all her years at Hogwarts with her least favorite professor, in the dungeons, on a night when she should be celebrating the end of exams with her friends, Hermione was in a rather good mood. She'd insulted Draco Malfoy without being hexed to within an inch of her life (being Head Girl definitely had perks), she was doing something she enjoyed for her detention, and Christmas was just around the corner.

The diluted unicorn tears had reached the desired temperature (indicated by the pale lavender color they turned), and Hermione added the dried chamomile and hibiscus flowers into the cauldron. Next she measured out root of asphodel into a stone bowl and began to grind it into a fine powder with a matching stone pestle. She was very careful not to inhale any of the dust she produced; alone it was very toxic. Only when used in a potion was the powder safe to ingest.

Finishing the grinding, she set the bowl to the side and began chopping the wormwood into inch-long pieces. She tied the bitter twigs into a bundle with thread spun from kneazle whiskers and dropped it into the mixture in the cauldron, then took note of the time. The wormwood needed to steep exactly seven minutes before being removed and discarded.

Hermione noticed that the room had become unusually silent. The sound of Snape's quill scratching on parchment was absent. He was simply looking over the papers in front of him, barely making a mark on any of them. Hermione thought he must have come to the Slytherins' exams. His precious pets, she thought with disgust. More like pests. Won't ever take off a single house point from them, can't allow them to get less than the highest grades in his class… It made her so angry.

She realized she'd been glaring at the top of Snape's head as he was bent over examining the papers. Not anxious to be caught staring at him, she busied herself with preparing the shaved dragon's liver that would change the potion from a thin violet liquid into a syrupy purple concoction. By that time the wormwood needed to be removed and the powdered asphodel root could be added.

Twenty minutes later the potion was done simmering. Hermione performed an extinguishing spell on the flames beneath the cauldron and announced, "The potion's finished, Professor Snape."

He looked up from the dwindling stack of exams on the desk in front of him and regarded her with an unreadable expression on his face. "Very good, Miss Granger. You'll find empty bottles on the lowest shelf over there." He pointed to the rear cabinet. "Fill and label them all. And do try not to drop any." He smirked. Hermione ignored the biting comment and went to retrieve the bottles. Snape continued to grade papers.

Several minutes later, only a few more bottles-full of potion remained in the cauldron. Snape looked up and told her, "That's enough, Miss Granger. I'll finish the rest later." He stood and walked to the potions cabinet to the left of his desk. "Bring the full bottles to Madam Pomfrey, along with this." He withdrew a jar of bright orange paste from the shelf and handed it to her. She recognized her handwriting on the label.

"This is the burn-healing paste I made Monday for the exam," she said, bewildered.

"How very observant of you. Congratulations on recognizing your own handwriting." The professor sneered down his large nose at her. "The class's finished projects were tested for effectiveness on those abominable Blast-Ended Skrewts that were unfortunate enough to be too near one of their comrades during an… explosion." Snape's lip curled in revulsion. "Yours was one of the very few fit for real use." He turned on his heel and strode back to his desk, robes swishing behind him. Hermione stood dumbly with the jar in her hand. Was that really an unadulterated compliment from Snape? she asked herself in shock. Maybe the asphodel dust did get to me.

"Miss Granger?" Snape barked sharply from his seat behind the desk. "You may go."

"Right," she said, breaking out of her paralysis. "Um… have you finished grading my written exam?" she asked as she placed the bottles of sleeping draught in her bag.

"Yes."

The silence stretched for a moment before Hermione asked very politely, "May I see it please?"

"No. You must wait like all the other students until after the holiday."

"But… you said you're finished with it."

"Yes, but just because you can brew a simple burn-healing paste better than the rest of your pathetic peers does not entitle you to privileges they do not have!" He stood and glared down at her from his considerable height, towering over her short frame. His black eyes blazed with annoyance. Hermione nearly felt her skin smolder from his glare.

Well, Professor Snape, burn-healing paste is hardly "simple," Hermione thought furiously. It is an extremely complex potion to make, especially without the aid of any instructions and within the time limit of forty-five minutes! And of course I don't think that because of my success in brewing it I am superior to the other students! How dare you think so!

Of course she didn't say that. She merely replied, "Yes, sir," cheeks flaming, eyes flashing, and strode angrily out of the Potions classroom, slamming the door behind her.  
...

Severus sat back down, grinding his teeth at hormonal, outburst-prone adolescents in general, and Hermione Granger in particular. She was a brilliant young woman and would be one of his favorite students… if only she was a pureblooded Slytherin instead of a Muggle-born Gryffindor. And if she wasn't so damned moody. And if her hair wasn't so frizzy. Get a grip, Severus! Why are you thinking about her hair? He asked himself. I'm not, he replied. I would never think of a student… at all! He growled under his breath at himself. Especially not a Gryffindor! How had a silly little girl gotten him so upset?

He'd watched her as she was brewing the potion, watched how carefully she shaved the dragon's liver, how meticulously she had ground the root of asphodel, making sure every particle was crushed into identical-sized grains. She showed the same love of and passion for potions he had at her age. If she stuck with it, she could become as great a Potions Master as he was someday! But she'd probably end up being killed in some mad adventure with Potter and Weasley. She could be so much more if she would just drop those two juveniles. And they would be so much less without her. She was always the one to come up with a reasonable plan. She was the level-headed thinker of the trio. Severus was sure she'd saved their necks dozens of times, and what thanks did she get? Slander in the Daily Prophet and The Quibbler, next to no recognition by Potter, Weasley, even Dumbledore, and… Severus sighed. And the weekly wrath of a cranky Potions professor, he admitted to himself glumly.

He knew she had been staring at him as the wormwood steeped, had felt her eyes on the top of his head. No doubt she was filled with disgust at the sight of his greasy hair and over-large nose (though of course Severus cared not at all what a student thought of his appearance) not to mention the fact that he was hardly making a mark on all of the Slytherin students' exams. But he had to do it. In favoring the children that would most likely grow up to be Death Eaters, he was making them soft for when they entered the real world. And by acting harshly and cruelly to the students that would probably grow up to defeat the Dark Lord, he was making them strong. So he couldn't suddenly begin being nice to Miss Granger. It would be completely out-of-character and others would become suspicious. But maybe he could… not be as cruel to her. The poor girl could use all the kindness she could get. She deserved it.  
...

Hermione had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady before she remembered, in her anger, that she still had to deliver the bottles of potion to Madam Pomfrey. "Going in, dear?" the Fat Lady asked.

"Not yet," Hermione growled. The Fat Lady huffed indignantly as Hermione stormed back down the corridor. Why am I so upset, anyway? she asked herself as she climbed the stairs. All he did was refuse to show me my exam grade. Oh yes, and insult me all evening, bully my friends and classmates, humiliate me in front of my Advanced Potions class, try and get Harry expelled every chance he gets… I remember now why I hate him so much! She stomped around a corner. But then… why did he praise my work on the burn-healing paste? Why did he let me brew a potion for detention instead of making me scrub out filthy old cauldrons or de-brain frogs?

Shaking these bewildering thoughts from her head, she entered the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey was attending to a second-year with a Fanged Frisbee clamped onto his forearm and told Hermione to just leave the bottles on her desk. The girl did so and left the infirmary quietly.

Alright, maybe I don't hate him, she told herself. I respect him as a professor; he has a great attention to detail, he loves his work, if not exactly the students he shares it with, he's a stickler for rules like I am… Ugh, what am I thinking, comparing Professor Snape to myself? Shuddering, she said the password, "ruby red," to the Fat Lady and entered the welcome distraction of the Gryffindor common room where the end-of-exams celebration was still going strong at nearly ten o'clock. Fillibuster's Fireworks and Fred and George Weasley's famous headless hats were just what she needed to keep her mind on celebrating and off the topic of her least favorite professor.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

It's dark. He's alone in the middle of a forest, the trees blocking out any light the stars and sliver of moon might provide. He knows he must get out of the forest, but how? He has completely lost all sense of direction. Then he sees them. Dozens of figures in black robes and hoods, all with stark white masks covering their features. They're closing in on him, wands raised. He feels icy sweat cover his body. A high-pitched laughter echoes in his mind. They're coming closer, closer…

Suddenly, with a flash of green light, he's in a dungeon. A boiling cauldron sits in front of him and he adds the last ingredient, watching as the liquid inside steams and bubbles, turning a sickly yellow color. The potion is finished; he ladles out a measure of it into a bottle, leaves the dungeon with it, and proceeds up the stairs. He reaches a heavy black door at the end of a corridor, knocks, and enters. Kneeling, he presents the vial to his master. "Well done, Severus," says the high, cold voice of his lord. Pale, spidery hands take the bottle and motion forward the prisoners at the rear of the room. The two Muggles, male and female, are dragged forward by robed and masked figures and thrown down on the stone floor. One of the figures takes the bottle and forces its contents down the female's throat. Severus moves to stand behind his lord's chair and watches with satisfaction as she convulses; the screams of the male next to her, obviously her mate, mingle with her own shrieks of agony as she is burned up from the inside out.

The red, slitted eyes of his master gleam with pleasure. "Well done indeed, Severus," whispers the cold voice. "Your new potion will do nicely." The shining red eyes fill his vision and the high-pitched laughter rises to an awful, deafening crescendo—

Severus jolted upright in his bed, shaking, covered in perspiration. The clock on the opposite wall told him it was three in the morning. Gasping for breath, he untangled himself from his sweat-drenched sheets and stumbled into the bathroom in his shorts. He splashed cold water on his face, shivering. He couldn't bring himself to look in the mirror.

...

Hermione yawned and stretched as she woke up slowly. It's Christmas! she thought as she swung her legs off the side of her four-poster bed. Not bothering to dress, she shrugged her robe on over her pajamas and stepped into her slippers, then hurried down the stairs to the common room, noticing the swirling snow outside a window on the way. Harry was sitting on the floor by the fireplace waiting for her, two stacks of presents before him. "Happy Christmas, Harry," she said, greeting him with a hug.

"Happy Christmas, Hermione," he said as she plopped down on the floor next to him. "Shall we?" He eyed the gifts.

"We shall!" Hermione grinned as they both tore through the wrapping paper and ribbons of identical-looking packages. She grinned wider as they both held up sweaters that were knitted lovingly by Mrs. Weasley. Harry's was bright green with a gold "H" on the front, and Hermione's was light blue with the letters "HG" in silver on the breast surrounded by a badge shape. "Now I don't need to wear my Head Girl badge," she laughed. (Mrs. Weasley was as proud of Hermione's Head Girl status as if she was one of her own children.) They also both received a box of homemade candy from the Weasley family.

"I've got a set of seven Weasley sweaters now!" Harry exclaimed.

"Well, I've only got this one, so you can share," Hermione joked.

When they were finished opening their gifts, they surveyed their "loot." Harry had received Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them from Remus (the page describing werewolves was marked with a Gryffindor-themed bookmark), a giant tub of Drooble's Best Blowing Gum from Tonks, and a single thumbtack from the Dursleys. He also got a wand-care kit from Ron and a subscription to GQ (Great Quidditch) from Hermione, both of which he'd opened with his friends the week before.

Hermione had gotten The Complete Works of William Shakespeare and some sugar-free cookies from her dentist parents, a clay sculpture of a mermaid her fourth-grade sister had made at school, and beautiful sapphire earrings from her grandmother. Harry had given her a very pretty enchanted comb that calmed her frizzy hair a bit, and Ron gave her the slippers she now wore, with a non-expiring warming charm on them so her feet never got cold. Harry and Hermione also got a box each of Hagrid's (in)famous treacle fudge.

"Well," Harry said, gathering his gifts, "let's get dressed and go down to Christmas dinner."

"Alright," Hermione agreed. "Meet me here; I'll see you in a few minutes." She charmed the wrapping paper and bows into the trash bin and carried her presents up to her room. As she was tying her shoes a few minutes later, a rather frozen-looking owl appeared at her window. Who could that be from? she wondered, gazing at the envelope tied to the unfamiliar bird's leg. Walking to the window, an odd sense of dread came over her.

...

Severus had been sitting in his wingback chair by the fireplace since his nightmare had awoken him several hours ago. He was staring at the Christmas present sitting on the mantle. It was from Albus; as always, the headmaster was the only one to get him a Christmas gift. When the light of the sun coming through the narrow windows at the top of the wall outshone the light of the fire, he rose and took the package down, then sat once more in the wing chair. The wide, thin box was wrapped in shiny gold foil with an avocado green ribbon tied around the whole thing. He guessed that many, many years ago Albus had bought a giant roll of this ribbon, since that was what he and all the other staff members received every year on their gifts, as far back as anyone could remember.

Severus removed the ribbon, then slipped his fingers under the flaps of paper on the edges and pulled. They snapped open, and after sliding a finger under the tape along the edge of the paper, it came away to reveal a gorgeous blank book. It was bound in green leather with a hand-tooled filigree design in silver down the spine and as a border on the front cover. He gasped at the beautiful workmanship. It's got to be elven-made, he thought with amazement. How did Albus find this? True elves, not related to house elves, were almost never seen. They lived in high mountains or dense woods, places no humans ever went. As far as Severus knew, the last sighting of an elf was over seventy years ago by a Muggle, an Oxford professor who became a writer.

Opening the journal, he read on the inside of the front cover: Merry Christmas, Severus! Find a good use for this. Your friend, Albus. Stroking the first blank, creamy white page reverently, he thought, What will I use this for? Something this rare and special needs a special purpose. He rose and placed the book gently in the bottom drawer of his desk and cast several wards on the drawer, then returned to his chair. He was staring into the fire, pondering what to do with the journal, when the flames flashed bright green. Remembering his nightmare, Severus jumped, but by the time a tall blonde man had stepped out of his fireplace, he had composed himself.

"Merry Christmas, Severus," said Lucius Malfoy as he dusted ash off his pale blue cloak.

"Merry Christmas, Lucius," Severus said, still seated. Of all the people he didn't want to see today, Lucius was at the very top of the list.

"Opening presents?" Malfoy asked after performing a cleansing spell on his hair and clothing, ridding himself of the filth one acquired traveling by Floo. He gestured to the ribbon and wrapping paper on the table by Severus' chair.

"Yes, Albus got me a book." He motioned for Lucius to take the other wing chair.

"On something dreary like Potions, no doubt." Malfoy yawned and sat. Severus didn't bother to correct him. "That old fool is still giving you gifts?"

"It would seem so." Severus' anger was rising, though his demeanor revealed nothing of it. Say what you came here to say and then be gone! he thought.

"Hmm. Well." Lucius surveyed the room, taking in the wood furniture all stained the same dark color: the many bookcases filled to bursting with ancient tomes and new volumes alike, the potions cabinet, the desk and matching chair, the coffee table. He eyed the plain green rug that covered most of the stone floor, no doubt comparing it to the spectacular rugs at his home, Malfoy Manor.

"Enjoying your first Christmas out of Azkaban, Lucius?"

Malfoy bristled. "Oh, indeed. Although I'd rather you not tell anyone of my little visit since," he lowered his voice dramatically, "I'm still supposed to be there." He winked conspiratorially.

"Of course not." Severus wanted to steer the conversation clear of this topic now; the glint in Malfoy's eyes made him nervous. "So, what brings you to Hogwarts today?"

"What?" Malfoy asked, acting hurt. "I can't drop by to wish my dear friend a Merry Christmas? You are still my friend, you know, in spite of your blatant betrayal to-"

"Somehow I doubt you would risk your freedom for a mere holiday chat," Severus cut him off. Lucius bristled at the interruption, but continued.

"Well, now that you mention it, there is a little something I would like to discuss with you." Severus said nothing; he just waited for Malfoy to continue. "Draco's grades are slipping."

That was unusually to the point for Lucius, Severus thought. He must actually be concerned.

"It's no surprise that his marks in Transfiguration are low, with that Gryffindor-loving witch as the professor." He made witch sound like he meant the title as something other than a woman with magical powers. "But in his other classes—Herbology, Charms, Potions—he's slipping. His mother and I are quite concerned." Severus repressed a snort at the thought of Narcissa Malfoy being concerned for anything other than her hair or the latest fashion. "So is Draco himself of course. I mean, ever since that revolting Hufflepuff," the word sounded like a curse, "got Head Boy instead of our Draco, he's just been down in the dumps. And I was wondering," Malfoy's ice-blue eyes gleamed with a hint of malice, "if you could do anything about the situation. As a favor to your old friend Lucius."

"Well," Severus said slowly, "I've noticed the boy hasn't been applying himself as of late. He seems distracted. Maybe Quidditch is to blame, or perhaps Miss Parkinson—"

"Nonsense," Malfoy cut in. "The boy knows Quidditch comes second after schoolwork, and Pansy is a lovely girl of excellent heritage and wonderful… assets." His icy eyes sparkled and his thin lips smirked. "No, what I had in mind was a little extra attention from his Potions master."

"Attention" meaning giving the little brat grades he doesn't deserve, thought Severus.

"If his Potions grade were to improve, so would his overall grade. And we know grades are so important in the last year of school, what with N.E.W.T.s coming up so quickly." Lucius rose from his chair, and Severus stood also. "Thank you so much for your time, Severus. I do hope you understand me. I do hope someone—say, Dumbledore—doesn't hear about those embarrassing little personal incidents right after your Hogwarts graduation."

"I understand you completely, Lucius." Severus' hand literally ached to be able to retrieve his wand from the coffee table and curse Malfoy to within an inch of death. How dare he blackmail me? he thought furiously.

"Nice seeing you," he said. "Give my love to Narcissa."

"Will do, Severus. Ta-ta." Helping himself to the box of Floo powder on Severus' mantle, Lucius vanished in a flash of green light.

Severus took a deep breath, clenched and unclenched his fists, and then let out a string of curse words he didn't even know he was capable of saying. His pale face slightly flushed, he threw himself back down in the chair and unconsciously rubbed his left forearm, remembering the "incidents" Lucius referred to. He closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the chair, trying to calm down. A knock at his front door startled him. What now? He stood and stormed over to the door. Throwing it open, he saw who it was. "Ah, good morning," he said. "Do come in."

...

Hermione read the brief letter once more, and then sat heavily on her bed, the parchment clutched tightly in her hands. No, no, no, she thought over and over. She felt hollow inside, like someone had ripped all her guts out. She was dizzy, holding back tears. Rising, she walked to her night table where all her gifts were stacked, and picked up the smallest package. Opening the tiny white box, she removed the sapphire earrings her grandmother had given her, and her tears started to flow silently, hotly, down her cheeks.

"Hermione?" she heard Harry call from the bottom of the stairs. "Is everything alright?" Mechanically she walked to the door, opened it, and descended the steps. Catching sight of her tearstained face as she reached the foot of the stairs, Harry gasped. "Hermione, what's wrong?"

Unable to control herself, she threw her arms around Harry's neck and sobbed loudly. Clearly shaken, her best friend patted her back and murmured, "It's going to be alright, Hermione, come on, come sit down." He led her to the nearest armchair and knelt in front of her. "Let me see," he said, gently taking the paper from her shaking hands.

Hermione, (he read)

We didn't know how else to reach you over the holidays, so we went to Diagon Alley and used an owl from the post office. There's no easy way to say this, sweetheart, but Grandma Granger died last night. She just fell asleep in her chair watching television and didn't wake up. The funeral's the 27th, here in London. Talk to your headmaster and find a way to come to us as soon as you are able. We're staying in the Thistle Hyde Park Hotel.

Love,

Mum and Dad

"Oh… oh Hermione," Harry said, rising and hugging her once more, leaving the letter on the table beside her chair. "I'm so sorry. I'm so so sorry." He fished a handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to her. She wiped her eyes and blew her nose.

"I'm alright. It just… came as a shock. She seemed fine last time I talked to her… I guess… people just get old." She sniffed and rubbed at her eyes.

"Well let's write a note to your parents, we'll send it with Hedwig. I'll go get paper. I'll be right back, okay?" Harry dashed up the steps to his dormitory room and returned a minute later with a blank sheet of parchment, his eagle-feather quill and a pot of ink. Hermione took a deep breath and wrote,

Mum and Dad,

I think the best way for me to go would be by the Floo network (remember, it's traveling through fireplaces?). I'll meet you in the back room at the Leaky Cauldron this evening before supper time. I'll see you then.

Love,

Hermione

She handed the note to Harry, who said, "I'll run this up to the owlery while you pack. You probably won't want to come to the feast, huh?" She shook her head. "I'll meet you at the entrance to Dumbledore's office in ten minutes, alright?" Hermione nodded, took her parents' letter, and started toward her room. Harry caught her arm and gave it a brief squeeze. "I'm really sorry, Hermione. I know how much you loved her."

"Don't worry about me. I'll be alright." She smiled weakly and continued to her room. She took a small duffle bag from the bottom of her wardrobe and set it on her bed. Into it she put her toothbrush and toothpaste, hair brush, a few pairs of socks and underwear, jeans, jumpers, and her parents' letter. She returned to her wardrobe and laid her hand on the one black dress she owned. She only ever wore it to funerals. Removing it from its hanger, she started crying again softly and noticed the earrings were still held tightly in her fist. She'd wear them to the funeral. Grandma would have wanted her to.

...

"Come in, Headmaster," Severus said, stepping aside to let in Professor Dumbledore. Much as he hated the holidays (Christmas spirit—please!) and visitors, Severus didn't mind having Albus drop by.

"Merry Christmas, Severus," said the headmaster.

"Merry Christmas, Albus. Would you like a drink?"

"Hot chocolate would be excellent." Dumbledore took the chair recently vacated by Lucius Malfoy and watched as Severus hung the kettle over the fireplace. The Potions master then sat as well.

"Thank you very much for the journal, Albus," he said. "It's exquisite."

"Yes indeed. I thought you might like it." The headmaster's blue eyes twinkled merrily. "Thank you for the calligraphy quill. I tried it out as soon as I opened it, and it produced the most beautiful writing I've ever seen! I shall use it to write all my thank-you notes." The kettle whistled and Severus got up to make their drinks. As he charmed the kettle off its hook and made it pour into two black mugs he'd taken from a low cabinet next to the fireplace, Albus asked, "Are you having a nice Christmas?"

Severus took his time stirring in the hot chocolate mix for Albus and dropping the tea bag into his own mug. "I was until Lucius Malfoy showed up."

"Ah, yes," Albus said, taking his cup from Severus. "Precisely why I wanted to talk to you. What was that all about?"

Severus didn't even begin to ponder how the headmaster already knew Malfoy had visited. The man seemed to know everything. "Nothing much. Gloating that he'd escaped from Azkaban, though it's been six months, and blackmailing me into raising Draco's Potions grade."

"I see. Is that all?" Always tactful, Albus didn't ask what Lucius had used against Severus, nor did he reprimand the professor for favoring students unfairly. He knew the Potions master had his secrets, and knew and approved of the reason Severus gave preferential treatment to the Slytherins.

"Yes, that was all; just the usual Malfoy Christmas cheer."

"And he gave no hint as to how he escaped from Azkaban?"

"None, unfortunately. No news about the Dark Lord or the Death Eaters, either."

"Mm." Albus slurped his hot chocolate quietly. "Well, you'll let me know if you do find out anything more?"

"Of course, Headmaster." They sat in companionable silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks. Albus' company was the only company Severus could and would tolerate willingly for any length of time. He owed the man his life.

His drink finished, Dumbledore rose. "I'd better go get ready for the Christmas feast. I don't suppose you'll be joining us?"

"I'd prefer not to," said Severus.

"Very well. You'll miss some excellent crackers, though. I still have that vulture-topped hat from several years ago." His eyes twinkled once more and Severus walked him to the door.

Severus returned to his chair and sipped his tea, yawning and rubbing his bloodshot eyes repeatedly. Going back to bed seemed like a very appealing thought. Why not? he asked himself. What have I got to do today? Nothing. Not a damn thing. He headed to his bedroom and enjoyed several hours of peaceful, uninterrupted sleep.

...

Hermione had met Harry at the stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office, but when she said "Chocolate truffle" to it (being Head Girl, she was supplied with the password for emergencies), the gargoyle didn't move. "He must've changed the it," she said, trying not to burst into tears again.

"Shh, Hermione, it's alright. I thought he'd still be here, but I guess he's not. We'll just wait, he should be here any minute." Harry patted her shoulder and took her duffle bag from her. In just a few minutes they saw Professor Dumbledore coming down the corridor towards them.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Potter," he said, taking in Hermione's fragile state. "Why don't we go up to my office? Jolly Rancher," he said to the gargoyle, and it hopped to the side. Hermione and Harry followed the headmaster up the spiral stairs and through the carved wooden door into a cozy room where the walls were covered with moving pictures of previous Hogwarts headmasters and headmistresses. "Now dear," said Dumbledore as he sat behind the desk, "what's the trouble?"

"My grandmother just passed away, sir. I got an owl from my parents this morning." The portraits muttered sympathetically (those that weren't asleep that is)."I thought the best way to get to them in London was to take the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron tonight. I've already sent a note on to them."

"That's a very good idea, Miss Granger," the professor said kindly. He rose and walked to the fireplace which was snapping with a warm, comfortable fire. After throwing in a bit of Floo powder, he called into the green flames, "Minerva!"

"Yes, Headmaster?" Hermione heard Professor McGonagall's voice from the fireplace.

"Please come to my office as soon as you are able."

"Right away." In a moment, Professor McGonagall was stepping out of the fire.

"Minerva, Miss Granger's dear grandmother just passed on, and I would like you to accompany her to meet her parents in London."

"Of course, Albus." The witch swept towards Hermione and embraced her. "I'm so sorry, dear girl."

Hermione sniffled, but vowed not to cry again. "Thank you, Professor McGonagall." Hermione's head of house was a little like a substitute mother; there when Hermione needed someone to talk to, to give counsel or just comfort.

"Are you ready to go?" Dumbledore asked.

"Yes, sir, I've got everything I need right here." She held out her duffel bag.

"Very good. Minerva, you shouldn't be gone too long, I don't think."

"Hermione," said Harry, laying a hand on her arm. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Of course I will. Everyone just stop fussing about me. I'll be fine." Her words were harsh, but her tone was grateful.

Professor McGonagall threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire and said clearly, "The Leaky Cauldron." She disappeared in a whirl of soot and smoke, and Hermione followed after her. They arrived in a moment in a back room of the pub. After dusting themselves off, they proceeded into the front room. Hermione saw her parents and sister already there, waiting at a table against the wall. Her father's eyes and nose were red, and her little sister was trying not to cry as she leaned against her mother's shoulder.

"Oh, Daddy," Hermione cried. She let her bag drop to the floor and rushed across the relatively empty pub to her family's table. Her father stood up and let her fly into his arms, hugging her tightly.

Professor McGonagall brought her bag and set it next to the table. She patted Hermione on the back and turned to go. "Thank you," Hermione called after her.

"Of course, dear." She disappeared into the back room.

Mr. Granger put his arm around his eldest daughter and led his family out of the Leaky Cauldron and back into Muggle London.


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Next to Slytherin/Gryffindor Potions lessons, staff meetings were Severus' least favorite things about teaching at Hogwarts. The other professors, seated around a long, rectangular table in the wood-paneled staff room, whined to Dumbledore about misbehaving students, low supplies in the store rooms, new curriculums and the pros and cons of Hogsmeade weekends while Severus silently drank endless cups of tea throughout the seemingly endless meeting, saying nothing except to interject scathing remarks every time he was asked his opinion on something. Invariably Argus Filch, the castle caretaker, would show up towards the end with his mangy cat, Mrs. Norris, to try and get assorted students expelled, or at least permission to use physical punishment on them. His eyes would gleam as he'd talk about the well-oiled manacles he kept hanging from his office ceiling, just in case.

Sure enough, Sunday night after Madam Hooch had requested a few replacement brooms for the ones the second year Creevey twins had smashed during a flying lesson and before Professor Trelawney could begin to tell everyone which student's death she had predicted this year, Filch appeared, Mrs. Norris twining about his ankles.

"Professor Dumbledore, Sir," he said obsequiously, flashing a revolting smile of crooked yellow teeth, "I'd like to discuss the matter of Miss Ginny Weasley with you, Sir."

"Go ahead, Argus," the headmaster said benevolently.

"Mrs. Norris here tells me," he bent and stroked the cat lovingly, "that Miss Weasley's been sneaking around after hours, up to who-knows-what. I also have reason to suspect that she's taking orders for nasty items from her brothers' horrible shop of pre-made disasters." Severus wrinkled his nose at the thought of any and all Weasleys, but had to admire the eloquent way Filch had just described Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. And it sounded like Miss Weasley was taking after her older twin brothers.

"Well, Argus, have you seen the girl out after curfew?" asked Albus.

"No sir," he replied, obviously crushed.

"Has anyone else?" The professors all shook their heads. "And it is perfectly within school rules to take orders for items from a shop, whatever the shop may be. I should think she's doing her brothers a great favor, bringing them more business." The headmaster's eyes twinkled. "Is that all, Mr. Filch?"

"Yes sir." The disappointed caretaker took his leave, Mrs. Norris close behind him. Marvelous, thought Severus, more fake wands, Skiving Snackboxes, Canary Creams… Oh yes, he knew all about the wonderful merchandise Fred and George had invented. He had a box full of the confiscated junk in his office.

"Well, if there's no more business to discuss?" Dumbledore swept on, either not noticing Sybil Trelawney open her mouth to speak or deciding to ignore her. "I'm afraid I have a rather unpleasant announcement. Miss Granger, our dear Head Girl, received the news on Christmas day that her paternal grandmother had passed away." Soft murmurs of sympathy filled the room, though Severus remained silent. "As always when a student looses a family member, I would like to ask you all to remain available if she feels the need to talk."

Merlin's beard, Severus thought to himself. I can see it now: Miss Granger stumbling into my office, tears streaming down her face, saying "Professor Snape, I feel the need to talk." Having a cold, distant personality had definite advantages; no one, student or otherwise, ever felt the need to talk with him. Thank Circe. However, it was awful that her grandmother had died on Christmas.

"I would also like to inform all of you that she is headed for University after her graduation to study the ways Muggle technology and magic can be used together, and it would help immensely if she could collect letters of recommendation from most or all of her professors." Everyone at the table nodded in agreement, although Severus merely made an almost imperceptible jerk of his head.

"I see there's nothing more on the agenda," Albus said, glancing at a parchment on the table in front of him, "so you are all dismissed. The next meeting is the last Thursday of this month."

Severus hurriedly gulped the last of his tea and exited the staff room before he got caught up in the annoying small talk that always followed these dreadful functions. The last Thursday of January couldn't come slowly enough for him. Sweeping off down to his dungeon rooms to go over the lesson plans for tomorrow, the first day of the new term, his mind drifted back to Hermione Granger. Simply awful. Poor girl. Even if she is a Gryffindor.

...

Hermione was glad the new term had started. She needed to keep her mind busy and not dwell on negative things. Unfortunately, her mind had decided to replay the events of the holiday, keeping Hermione awake on Sunday night. She tossed and turned in bed as her brain sped through the unpleasant happenings of the last couple of weeks.

After the funeral she'd returned home with her family to spend the rest of the holiday with them. She and her sister had snapped at each other all during the long car ride home; consequently, their parents had snapped at them and at each other, so when they arrived at their modest two-story home in Windsor, patience was thin and tempers were barely in check. She'd gone straight up to her room, slammed the door, and fell onto her bed sobbing. She didn't go down to supper that night and no one came up to bother her.

By breakfast the next morning everyone was feeling better. Her father spread out some old photo albums and they all looked through them, telling stories about Grandma Granger while sitting on the comfortable sofa in the living room. Hermione remembered her first tap recital when she was eight (a disaster, which was why she only took a year of lessons) and the look on Grandma's face as she clapped enthusiastically at the end of the show. Her little sister recalled how Grandma had shown up as a surprise for her seventh birthday. Dad told the girls stories about his mother as he was growing up, and brought out a jewelry box from the boot of the car.

"Grandma wanted you girls to have these," he told them as he placed it on the kitchen table before lunch, opening it to reveal all kinds of earrings, bracelets, old watches, hair pins… but the thing that caught Hermione's eye was the sapphire pendant glittering on a white gold chain that was stored in a blue velvet bag in the bottom drawer. It matched the earrings she'd received for Christmas, which she still wore; they had round sapphires set in white gold attached to the posts and teardrop-shaped sapphires dangling from them. Reverently she unwound the chain and let her father take it and clasp it around her neck. "You look so much like pictures of her when she was your age," he said, his eyes tearing.

Hermione returned to the living room and emptied a manila envelope onto the coffee table. She found the photo she was looking for, one of her grandmother right after her high school graduation, just before she got engaged to her grandfather. (She hardly knew him; he'd died when she was five.) The edges of the picture were a bit ragged and the photo itself was yellowed a little, but she could tell she did look a lot like her grandmother. Hermione's hair was bushier and her lips were fuller, but she had her grandmother's pretty brown eyes and small nose. She turned the picture over and saw on the back in her grandmother's beautiful looping handwriting, "Claire Jane Archer, Senior Year." Taped underneath the writing was a small plastic bag containing a lock of brown hair; her grandmother's, of course. She had cut it just before the picture was taken. Bringing the photo into the kitchen, she'd asked her father if she could keep it. "Of course, sweetheart." She wanted to put it on her bedside table at school, to remind her of the wonderful woman her grandmother had been.

She'd divided up the jewelry with her sister, most of which was too fancy to wear very often, and left all of it but the sapphire set at home. She wanted to keep the set at school with her.

Hermione had cried no few times during the remainder of the break, remembering Grandma Granger's smile, her perfume, how she once sat on the big bed in Grandma's bedroom watching her get ready for a fancy dinner. All the birthday cards with money to be spent on books, all the Christmases spent at the Granger house (almost a mansion) in London. All the future holidays with no cards or visits.

She'd spent the trip back to Hogwarts on the train with Ron and Ginny, listening quietly as they described Fred and George's newest inventions, Bill's adventures in Egypt, Charlie's dangerous excursion to capture a Chinese Red dragon, and Mr. Weasley's stories about the illegally enchanted Muggle artifacts he'd found lately. Percy had reconciled with his family last year after affectively disowning them, but, unsurprisingly, there was nothing of interest to report about his job at the Ministry of Magic.

Harry seemed extremely glad to see her and Ron when they got back. He'd had a very uneventful holiday, he told them that night in the common room after supper, being the only Gryffindor at the school over Christmas break. He'd spent a lot of time practicing flying alone on the Quidditch pitch. To Hermione's surprise and delight (and Ron's disgust), he'd even studied a bit for the N.E.W.T.s! And now that Hermione was back at Hogwarts, she was spending almost all of her spare time doing just that.

Yes, it was good to be back, away from saddened family members and memories of Grandma. Classes would start tomorrow and keep her busy, keep her mind occupied. There was her Charms essay due in a couple weeks, Transfiguration practice, Astronomy charts… She yawned and rolled over, drifting slowly to sleep.

...

Severus knew his mere presence was enough to quiet the rowdiest of classes. Sweeping in from his office, black robes billowing, black eyes flashing, and glaring at the students from the front of the classroom commanded instant silence.

However, when he entered the classroom Wednesday after lunch, it was already quiet. The seventh year Advanced Potions class was his favorite to teach. As much as he could like teaching, anyway. As usual, his Slytherins were right up front. He noticed Miss Granger in the very back, her usual expression of enthusiasm for learning somewhat faded. What's wrong with the girl? he wondered. Shouldn't she already be waving her hand in the air, eager to correct me or add some bit of knowledge completely unrelated to the topic of potions making?

"Textbooks to four-ninety-three," he announced and crossed his arms, folding his voluminous robes about himself. The class did as he bid them, turning to the instructions for making a headache cure. "If you finish the potions early, you may start work on an essay, to be handed in next class period, describing how any three of the ingredients used in the headache cure affect the taker of it. Begin." He sat behind his desk, keeping an eye on the students. Normally he would prowl up and down the aisles, barking orders and drawing attention to errors, but the advanced class was the only one he could relax a bit in. Leaving them to their own devices seemed the best course of action most of the time.

Most of the time. Except now, when Pansy Parkinson literally had her tongue in Draco Malfoy's ear. Draco was attempting to measure out the correct amount of mashed hellebore stem, but he was trying not to laugh as the girl whispered something to him that would make a whore blush. Severus didn't know what the boy saw in her. She wasn't unattractive, but she wasn't beautiful either. She was barely passing all of her classes, and had just scraped by the previous six years at Hogwarts as well. Her head seemed filled only with thoughts of Draco and fluff. Mostly fluff. Surely Lucius has encouraged the relationship in order to keep his bloodline pure, Severus thought. That and a few physical benefits have also… encouraged Draco.

Tearing his mind from those disturbing thoughts, he shouted, "Mr. Malfoy!" as he rose from his seat. He could not stand public displays of teenage lust, especially in his classroom. "Kindly extract your ear from Miss Parkinson's mouth and take a seat at the rear of the classroom. Miss Parkinson," he continued as Draco rose and took his things, "please pay attention to your cauldron and the items you are supposed to be putting into it before something dreadful happens." He watched as Draco sulked to the back row, sitting at the desk across the aisle from Miss Granger. Where's the Hufflepuff girl that usually sits there? Severus wondered. Ill, no doubt. This time of year there's never any shortage of sickness. No wonder, with the way the students are swapping germs right and left. He remained standing at the front of the room for a few more minutes, surveying his students' work.

Since he really had nothing to do at his desk besides grade papers, which he hated to do during class time, he strolled up and down the aisles and along the edges of the room checking on everyone. When he reached the back, he found Miss Granger, as always, intent on her work. However, every few seconds she would glance over to her left at Draco. Severus's curiosity kicked in and he stood quietly behind them to see what would happen.

At last, Miss Granger couldn't hold herself back any longer. Severus noticed her face had turned a bit pink with the effort. "Malfoy," she whispered. The boy ignored her. "Malfoy!" He turned his head in her direction. "You're supposed to use poppy seeds, not sesame seeds," she said, staring pointedly at the jar on his desk. "We're making a headache cure, not a Whopper."

"What on earth is a Whopper?" he asked, the sneering Malfoy disdain evident in his voice. Every Malfoy Severus had ever known could use that trademark tone perfectly.

"Uh… um…" she stuttered. "Nothing." She flushed more; the tone had worked. She just can't stand not to help someone who needs it, even if the person who needs it is her mortal enemy, Severus thought.

"Why would I accept help from a filthy mudblood like you anyway?"

Hermione rolled her eyes and returned to her work, muttering "Your funeral" under her breath. Severus noticed that Draco discreetly checked his book when she wasn't looking and replaced the jar of sesame seeds with the correct jar of poppy seeds.

Well done, he thought, though he wasn't sure which student he was congratulating.

The next hour was uneventful and the students brewed their potions in peace. Near the end of the period it was time to add the puffapod beans to the mixture. One at a time the students went to the back shelves, took down the jar of bright purple beans and removed three of them, and then returned the jar to the top shelf. Severus, never one to lean, stood stiffly in front of his desk, arms still crossed. A Ravenclaw, Mr. Boot, Severus thought, accidentally bumped one bean off the edge of his desk. Immediately upon impact with the stone floor, the bean burst into bloom. A two-foot-high purple flower was rooted into the rock where the seed had fallen.

"Ten points from Ravenclaw!" Severus shouted. "Remove that weed from my floor; the flowers are of no use to me." Red-faced, the boy got on his hands and knees and tugged at the flower. After several minutes of hard work, it finally came free. Humiliated, he walked to the side of the room and threw it in the bin.

Severus stood silently for a few minutes and let his mind wander. His nightmares had gotten much worse; he was having two or three a night sometimes, and hadn't felt rested since before Christmas. He was abruptly yanked back to reality when he heard a crash from the rear of the room. Miss Granger was standing in the middle of about a hundred puffapod flowers while Draco stood by smirking. Horrified, she cried, "It wasn't my fault, Professor! He shoved me!" Angrily, she waded from the forest of flowers to stand behind her desk, practically shooting lightning bolts at Draco with her eyes.

"Destruction of school property twice in as many class periods, Miss Granger," Severus said silkily as he strode down the center aisle toward her.

"But I didn't do it, Professor Snape," she protested. "I was reaching for the jar, standing on my toes, and Malfoy bumped me from behind! It slipped off and shattered!"

"I thought you said he shoved you; now he bumped you? Your changing story is so very convincing." She clenched her teeth, brown eyes sparking with fury and unshed tears. Severus had no doubt that Draco had bumped—or shoved—Miss Granger, but he could use her potions brewing skills once more, and he wasn't about to punish his "favorite" student. "I think another detention is in order, as well as thirty points from Gryffindor. I'll see you here Friday at eight o'clock, and bring money to replace the puffapods you rendered completely useless with you carelessness. Mr. Malfoy, please go into the storeroom and retrieve another jar of beans." He summoned the key chain from its hook on the side of his desk and handed it to Draco, who strode cheerfully through Severus' office to get to the storeroom door.

Miss Granger sat at her desk, head bent so her long hair hid her tears. The sniffling noises issuing from behind the brown frizz, however, belied that she was, indeed, trying hard not to cry. What is wrong with her? Severus asked himself. It's just detention. She didn't cry last time.

It hit him as he was walking to the Great Hall for supper that evening. Her grandmother just died. He stopped short, one foot on the stairs leading up to the main floor. Her grandmother just died and I yelled at her and gave her a detention for no reason. Severus, you insensitive bastard. Even a Gryffindor doesn't deserve that.

...

"Insensitive bastard!" Hermione yelled as she entered her dormitory room right after Potions class. A large orange furball stirred on her bed when she slammed the door. "Oh, Crookshanks!" she cried, diving onto the bed next to her cat. Burying her face in his thick fur, she wailed, "I'm too short to reach the top shelf and I know it but I didn't want to get the stool and I'd almost reached it and then Malfoy came up behind me and deliberately shoved me with his elbow in my back and it slipped and fell and all these flowers were shooting up, thank goodness none of them landed on my shoes or robes or something, and Professor Snape gave me another detention and took off thirty more points from my house!" She wasn't so much on the verge of tears anymore as she was just furious. "He shouldn't be allowed to teach if he hates kids that much!" Crookshanks mewed sympathetically.

"Of course Malfoy didn't get in any trouble when the whole thing was his fault," she said sitting up. "He wanted to get me back for trying to help him. I should've just let him melt his cauldron… Yeah, molten metal all over his lap, hot, burning, molten metal." She grinned at the thought, and then sighed. "I sound like Ron. But I don't care! Malfoy deserves it, him and Professor Snape! They can just… die!" She fell back onto the bed feeling a pretty good migraine coming on. She was thankful beyond measure that Lavender and Parvati were already at supper. The last thing she wanted right now was the cooing attentions of those two airheads.

"I've never had a detention before last month, and that wasn't my fault either! Now I have two on my record! How will I ever get into University with all these detentions?" Crookshanks just purred reassuringly. "I know, I'm overreacting, it'll be alright. Just… The N.E.W.T.s are only a few months away, and I have three essays due next week, and my headache cure wasn't even the right shade of pink 'cause I was so mad when I finished it, and Grandma… Oh, Crookshanks," she said as the animal climbed into her lap and nuzzled her chin, "you know just what to do. I wish Harry and Ron were this understanding. Though maybe without the chin-nuzzling." She giggled, feeling slightly calmer.

"I guess I had better get down to dinner." Hermione patted her beloved pet fondly. "Thanks, Crookshanks. I'll bring you back a snack, okay?" He purred louder and she went down to the Great Hall, wishing Friday would never come.

The next day, Tuesday, after supper she had her weekly meeting with Ernie MacMillan, the Head Boy. She met with him every week, and every other week they met with all the fifth- and sixth-year prefects as well. There was nothing of interest to report, unless you counted the second-year Creevey twins knocking out half their class in Herbology when some leaping toadstools got away from them. She and Ernie briefly discussed their Christmas holiday, (Ernie was sympathetic about her grandmother in his own, slightly pompous way), and then they were done.

All too soon it was Friday, and Hermione was once more walking down to the dungeons for a detention. Luckily she didn't encounter Malfoy on the way this time, and arrived at the Potions classroom five minutes early. She debated about waiting outside until the last possible moment, but Professor Snape called, "Well, get in here," from inside. How did he know I was here? she wondered as she entered the classroom.

Just like last time a cauldron, tools and ingredients were set out on the desk nearest the professor. He was grading papers at his massive desk and didn't look up when he announced, "You're making Sweet Dreams Syrup. Begin." Hermione set down her shoulder bag and rolled up her sleeves, noticing that the dozens of puffapod flowers were gone from the back of the room.

"I see you got someone to pull all the puffapod flowers," she said.

"No, I simply used a vanishing charm," he replied.

"If you could just vanish them, why did you make Terry work so hard to yank up the one he dropped?" Hermione liked Terry Boot; they'd worked together on Arithmancy both in class and out of it. Even if the person that had dropped the seed was Pansy Parkinson, Hermione still wouldn't have appreciated the way Snape treated them.

"That is none of your concern, Miss Granger," he said, still not looking up from his papers. "I suggest you get to work unless you want to be here all night."

Insensitive bastard! She realized she was gripping the edges of the instructions paper too tightly and relaxed, vowing not to curse anymore tonight. She read through the directions, including the interesting effect of the potion, and started brewing it.

...

Severus had finished his supper in more of a hurry than usual and arrived at the Potions classroom at a quarter to seven. He set out the tools and ingredients Miss Granger would need and then rearranged everything four or five times before he made himself stop and sit still in his desk chair. Stop it! he told himself. You're not nervous or guilty. You are master of this school! You gave a student detention for being an idiot. A Gryffindor idiot! Just because her grandmother died a couple of weeks ago does not excuse her clumsiness. A small voice in the back of his head reminded him, But she wasn't clumsy. It was Draco's fault. You should've cut her some slack. You even decided to a few weeks ago. Remember?

Ignoring the small voice, Severus stood and paced the classroom for a while, then sat again and began grading papers. Soon he was absorbed in the task and only looked up when the doorknob to the room glowed blue, indicating that someone was outside. The wards he put on all his doors were very useful. After muttering the password to unlock it, he called, "Well, get in here!" Miss Granger entered and he told her what she was making. He wanted to try it to see if it would help his nightmares. Last night had been particularly bad, and he wished for no more repeats. The way the potion worked was that after taking it he would concentrate on something pleasant, and then all night he would have good dreams about whatever his last thought was. It was worth a try, much as he hated having to depend upon what he called "synthetic sleep."

After asking annoying questions about the puffapod flowers she had spilled, Miss Granger worked silently for the next half hour, chopping, shredding and grinding the ingredients he'd provided from his private stores. He didn't think taking school property for his personal use would be wise or moral.

Halfway through a stack of third-year Hufflepuff essays, Miss Granger interrupted him. "Professor?"

"Yes?" He finally looked up from the parchments and set his black quill in its pot of scarlet ink.

"I can't quite read this." She held up the instructions paper and walked to his desk. He took it from her and squinted at the spot where she pointed. Is it bad when you can't read your own handwriting?

"Clearly this says 'scarab wings'," he said after a moment. He waved the paper at her and she took it.

Ten minutes later, he was interrupted again. "Would you come look at the centaur hoof? I'm not sure how small it's supposed to be chopped."

Putting on his best scowl, Severus rose and stood behind Miss Granger. After briefly inspecting the chopped hoof, he said curtly, "The size is satisfactory," and sat at his desk once more.

They both worked in silence for another ten minutes before she asked, "Did Madam Pomfrey request a batch of Sweet Dreams Syrup?"

"It is not your concern why you are brewing this potion, it is your concern to simply brew it!"

Fifteen minutes after that, she opened her mouth and got as far as "Professor, I was wondering—," before Severus lost his temper.

"Obviously you think you can aggravate me enough to make me regret giving you this detention in the first place. I assure you, it is working, Miss Granger. However I would advise against testing my patience any further, for the consequences may be dire." His dark eyes flashed dangerously.

She glared right back at him. "I was just going to say, Sir, that I was wondering why you're having me brew potions for my detentions instead of making me do more menial labor such as de-braining eels or washing off the chalkboards."

"I would think that was apparent, Miss Granger. Your failure as of late to brew a decent potion has made it clear that you need more practice at it. Your headache cure this afternoon was dismal," he lied, "as was your memory potion a few weeks earlier," he lied again. It was true that her headache cure was a bit below her usual standard, but still serviceable. The memory potion, however, was better than perfect; it was used on a Ravenclaw Beater who got hit in the head with a bludger during Quidditch practice. Days later he was remembering things from years ago he thought he'd forgotten forever. He had done quite well on his exams.

"Bloody hell!" cried Miss Granger, slamming down the knife she'd been using to chop ingredients. "You know damn well that none of my potions have ever been 'dismal'! How dare you!" She advanced on his desk. Severus was struck dumb. He'd never before been at a loss for a sarcastic or biting comeback, but never before had anyone had the nerve to shout at him like this girl was doing.

"What's wrong with you? You pick on me for no apparent reason, blaming me for things that are not my fault, and then you have the audacity to lie about and insult my potions-making ability when I have never made a mistake in your class, not once! I love brewing potions, or at least I did until you started insulting my talent, and don't deny that it is talent." She stomped her foot. "Damn you! Do you have any idea what I have to deal with?" Her voice rose an octave. "Being Head Girl; taking all advanced classes; the N.E.W.T.s are coming up; oh yes, and my grandmother died a few weeks ago! You need to get your selfish head out of your arse and think about someone other than yourself for a change!" She took a few galleons out of her robe pocket and threw them on his desk in payment for the puffapod beans. "Here's the money for your bloody beans!"

Severus could see the tears in her eyes, could see her mouth was trembling and her hands were shaking, but it didn't stop him from saying in a voice like black silk, "Remove yourself from my sight immediately before I do it for you."

Miss Granger stood for a moment, trembling, then grabbed her bag and sprinted out the door, slamming it behind her.

How dare he? How dare she! How dare she talk to me like that! How dare she make me feel like this!

Like what? the small voice asked.

Guilty, he wouldn't admit. That all of it's true.

...

Hermione somehow made it to the Gryffindor common room, passing few students since the hour was so late, through the portrait hole, and into a chair by the fire with Harry on one side and Ron on the other. Ginny saw her too and came over.

"What happened?" Harry asked.

"Ooh!" she yelled. Ron laid a comforting hand on her arm and Ginny patted her hand. After a moment she'd calmed down enough to say, "Professor Snape!" Her friends waited silently while she composed her anger into coherent sentences. "I was making a Sweet Dreams Syrup for my detention and kept asking him questions. I wanted to annoy him because he annoyed me by giving me detention and taking off house points and everything, and then he told me my potions were awful and I just snapped!"

"We know your potions aren't awful," said Ron.

"I know it too! That's why it made me so angry! He's been picking on me and I don't know why! I've had a lot to deal with lately and this isn't helping!" Her voice cracked.

"We know you have," said Ginny.

"He has no right," said Harry, "none at all to make you feel like this. We should do something—"

"No, Harry," Hermione cut in. "I appreciate the thought but I'm just going to have to deal with him. I mean, I'll be out of here in just a few months, and I'll never have to see him again. I just… oh…" She trailed off and buried her head in her hands.

"What?" asked Ginny. Hermione just moaned. "Come on, it can't be that bad."

"I yelled at a teacher," Hermione said from behind her hair. "I yelled and I cussed. He'll go to Dumbledore about it, they'll take away my Head Girl badge, I just know it."

"I'm sure Dumbledore wouldn't let that happen," said Harry.

"You cussed? At a teacher?" Ron asked incredulously. "What'd you say?"

"Shut up, Ron," said Ginny.

"It was pretty bad. Not the words, Ron, though I've been thinking worse about him. But what I said… What if they expel me?"

"They won't expel you," Harry reassured her. "I mean, I've yelled at Snape loads of times and I'm still here."

"True."

"And they won't take away your badge either," said Ginny.

"I know."

"So relax," said Ron. "Go to bed, sleep; it'll all seem better in the morning." Ginny, Harry and Hermione gave him a funny look. "It's what Mum says when someone's upset," he said quietly.

"You're right, guys. Thanks," said Hermione. She stood and went towards the girls dormitories feeling much better. "See you tomorrow."

She went into her room, shed all of her clothes, pulled on her "Mind the Gap" shirt, and climbed into bed. Crookshanks curled up in the crook of her knee and she fell asleep slowly. It wasn't a particularly restful sleep, though. She dreamt she was brewing a potion on the stage during her tap recital. She watched her eight-year-old self stumble through the routine while Professor Snape stood behind her barking orders she didn't know how to follow. At the end of it, though, Grandma Granger still stood up and clapped.

...

Severus slammed the door on his potions cabinet shut and the bang! echoed off the stone walls of his living room. He was forced to finish the Sweet Dreams Syrup himself after Miss Granger stormed out on her own detention, and now he was done putting everything away. Grabbing the bottle of Sweet Dreams, he stomped into his bedroom. This time he would undress properly before drinking a potion that would put him to sleep within moments.

Naked, he stood by the head of his bed, the bottle of silver-green liquid in his hand. Still angry about the stupid teenage Gryffindor girl, he gulped down the entire contents of the bottle without much thought. A few swallows would've given him good dreams for an hour or two, but drinking the whole bottle would ensure pleasant dreams all night long. He set the empty phial on his nightstand and climbed into bed, pulling the green sheet and quilt up to his armpits. Woozily he tried to think of pleasant things, like a cabin in the mountains—he'd heard Montana was nice—but thoughts of Miss Granger's rudeness and impetuousness kept intruding. His last thought as he fell deeply asleep was Damn her! Making me think of her even before bed… Damn Miss Granger…

After half an hour, the candles in his bedroom dimmed and put themselves out according to the timer he'd put on them. Severus settled down further into the bed, fast asleep and dreaming like mad. His hands clasped and unclasped over the quilt, green with a black border, his jaw clenched and unclenched, his closed eyes darted left and right.

At dawn he awoke violently. He sat straight up in bed, his hair a tangled, sweaty mess, his shaking body covered in perspiration. Worst of all was the yearning ache in his groin, which he hadn't felt in some time. Panting, he fell out of bed and stumbled into the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror over the sink startled him. He leapt back cringing. He couldn't bear to look at himself, not after what he'd just dreamt. He wanted to yell, scream; he didn't know what to do, what to think!

Before he could consider the consequence, Severus slammed the side of his fist into the mirror. Shards of his reflection, distorted, bent, broken, rained down into the sink and onto the floor. He drew his bloodied hand away and limped to the shower, head hanging, shoulders rounded. He turned it on full blast. Icy water sprayed from the nozzle, and Severus welcomed it. The aches in his hand and between his legs slowly faded, but the images in his mind would not.


	6. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

Severus stepped out of the shower and into the white-tiled bathroom. He dried quickly and impersonally, shoving thoughts of his dream to the very back of his mind.

Once he was in the bedroom, he pulled on clean shorts and began combing out his wet hair, yanking the comb through the tangles, and then performed a drying spell on it; if it was left to air-dry it would still be damp by lunchtime due to its thickness. He thought back to his days as a Hogwarts student, when he had taken special care of his thick black hair during his sixth and seventh years. He'd finally gotten fed up with taking crap from James Potter and his gang of goody-goody Gryffindors, and decided to do something about it. He started using special potions for his greasy skin and hair, buying new, more fashionable robes, going to Quidditch matches. He actually became quite popular, achieving prefect status his sixth year, even going on a few dates with some of the prettier Slytherin girls.

Now, of course, it didn't matter what he looked like. He was just the greasy old Potions Master, and that suited him fine. It was more than he deserved.

He dressed in his usual: white button-down shirt and black trousers under a perfectly-tailored black robe. This one was his favourite; it had at least two dozen ebony buttons ringed in silver down the front, and emerald cufflinks that sparkled nicely in the dungeon torchlight. It took forever to get on and off unless he used magic.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was closing his front door behind himself and striding up the stairs to the main floor. Damn! he thought. He'd wanted to call a house elf and have breakfast in his own rooms, but it was too late; Madam Hooch had spotted him. How he loathed that woman.

"Severus old boy, how are you?" she boomed from the top of the stairs. "Haven't seen you up at breakfast in a while. Decided to ascend to the land of the living?" She guffawed, yellow hawk-eyes crinkling at the corners.

The Potions Master had now reached the top of the staircase and was working on coming up with a biting response when she caught his upper arm and held onto it like it was a bucking broomstick. "Up to breakfast we go, then!"

Severus tried to extricate his arm from the grip of the flying instructor, but it was no use. Trying words instead of force, he said icily, "I'd rather take a stroll with a Dementor than attend breakfast with a bunch of overenthusiastic teenagers and surly, barely-awake professors. Kindly release my arm and allow me to partake of my meal in the peace of my own rooms."

"Nonsense!" Hooch replied, still grinning. "We're nearly there." To his dismay, Severus saw that they were, indeed, walking through the massive doorway to the Great Hall. "It's a Hogsmeade visit today; can't you just feel the excitement, old boy?"

He was about to reply that no, he couldn't feel any excitement, he could just hear the din of hundreds of adolescents, and he was not an "old boy" but she had plunked him down in a chair at the end of the head table before he could say a word. "Are you satisfied, Rolanda?" he growled.

"Oh, call me Hooch, you know I hate my first name."

"I know," Severus muttered, grabbing a piece of toast.

"What's that?"

"Nothing, Rolanda." Sufficiently annoyed, Hooch stalked off to the other end of the table to take a seat next to Professor Flitwick. Thank Merlin, thought Severus. Now I can relax.

Unfortunately, he couldn't. Hermione Granger had just walked into the Great Hall with Potter and Weasley. He followed her progress across the huge room, but instead of seeing her in the casual Muggle clothes most students favored for the weekend, he saw her as in his dream last night: naked and writhing and…

Stop it, Severus! he berated himself. It never happened. It was a dream. It didn't happen. It was a dream brought on by too much potion. He couldn't get rid of that gnawing hole of guilt in his heart, though, no matter how much he told himself the dream wasn't real.

She took a seat at the Gryffindor table, the boys to her left, and poured herself a cup of tea. Severus tore his eyes from the girl and forced himself to focus on his breakfast. Two five-minute eggs had just appeared in a small cup on his plate (Those house-elves really know what they're doing, he thought) when Albus walked by. "Ah, Severus," he said stopping behind the Potions Master's chair. "Nice to see you up and about the castle this early. On a weekend, too."

"I was accosted by Madam Hooch. She literally dragged me here," Severus growled, not looking up from his eggs.

"Not kicking and screaming, I hope?" Dumbledore was smiling.

"No."

"Did you sleep well?" Albus continued. Severus forced himself not to shudder at the thought of last night.

"I slept fine," he lied.

"Any big plans for the day?" That man can not take a hint! Severus thought.

"The cupboards in my classroom need to be restocked, and I thought I'd catch up on my reading."

"Sounds delightful." With that, the headmaster finally left him in peace. He gulped down his eggs as quickly as he could without drawing undue attention; he was eager to retreat to the peace of his dungeon sanctuary and busy himself with work so his thoughts wouldn't drive him mad. A commotion from the students' tables drew his notice as he was about to leave. Immediately, he spotted Potter and Malfoy, their faces inches apart, wands drawn, shouting at each other. Severus swept down to where they stood near the Gryffindor table. He saw, to his mixed relief and annoyance, that neither of the boys had been hit with any hexes. "Explain," he commanded.

Potter and Draco started talking at the same time. Weasley chimed in too, adding to the din. Miss Granger said nothing, but she looked furious. "Silence!" shouted Severus. Not only did the three boys in front of him stop talking, but so did half of the Great Hall. That was fine with him. He was getting a headache.

"Now. Mr. Malfoy. What happened?"

"I was leaving the Great Hall," said Draco, "and made a casual remark to these three on my way out, when—"

"Liar!" shouted Potter. The stupid boy could never control his temper. "Malfoy came right over and insulted Hermione! He—"

"Mr. Potter, I did not address you when I asked for an explanation. I addressed Mr. Malfoy. Continue," he said to Draco.

"As I was saying, sir… I made a remark to these three on my way out and Potter jumped up and started shouting that he was going to hex me. I had to draw my wand to defend myself, sir." Severus turned to regard Potter and Weasley, who were still standing. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Draco make a face at the Gryffindors. Granger sat silently, glaring at Draco. Severus stared at her, forgetting himself. All he could see was her rosy mouth open, panting, revealing perfectly straight white teeth and a tantalizing tongue… The hole in his heart grew. He felt ill.

"Professor Snape?" she asked. He was yanked back to reality. "Are you alright?"

"I am perfectly well, thank you, Miss Granger," he said as coldly as he could manage. Even he could tell his tone wasn't nearly up to his usual standards. He just couldn't bring himself to reply to her so harshly. "Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for fighting in the Great Hall." Potter merely glared at him. "And ten more points for you, Mr. Weasley."

"But I didn't do anything!" the red-haired boy protested.

"You just talked back to a professor," said Severus, watching the boy's face turn red.

"That's not f—" he began, but Granger elbowed him in the ribs and he shut up.

"Now, if your little display of testosterone is over," Severus said, noticing the boys had the decency to look at least a little ashamed, "get out of my sight." Quickly the students left the Great Hall, a wide space between Draco and the three Gryffindors. Severus strode out after them, in a slightly better mood now that he'd actually yelled at someone instead of keeping it trapped inside like he'd been doing all morning. He still needed something for his headache, though.

...

Hermione had woken early, too early for a Saturday. Knowing she wouldn't be able to get back to sleep, she rubbed her eyes in the dark of six in the morning. Crookshanks opened one eye, glared at her, and went back to sleep on the pillow next to her head. "So sorry for waking you, your majesty," she whispered to the cat. She swung her legs out of bed and into her slippers and grabbed her robe as she went out the door towards the common room.

The fire was still burning, giving the room a comfortable light and warmth. She settled into her favorite armchair by the fireplace and stared into the flames for a while. Still, unfortunately, wide awake, she took her wand from her robe pocket. "Accio Jane Eyre," she said, and a few moments later the paperback landed in her lap. She adored the story of Jane, who secretly loved her master, Rochester, but the cold man treated her indifferently for ages. Her favourite part was when he finally proposed to Jane. She had actually cried for joy the first time she read it.

All too soon, students were up and about, bustling around getting ready for the day at Hogsmeade. Hermione used a bit of paper torn from a discarded essay in the waste bin as a bookmark and went back up to her room to get dressed.

It was cold and snowy today, not at all unusual for mid-January at Hogwarts. She put on black jeans and tucked them into snow boots, then a tank top under a t-shirt and over that her light blue Weasley sweater. She hadn't brought her winter coat from home because the gray wool cloak she'd gotten a few years ago in Diagon Alley was even warmer. Also, she didn't feel comfortable going into an entirely non-Muggle village wearing entirely Muggle clothing; the cloak was pure wizard, and made her feel more at ease with all the witches and wizards around town.

Lavender and Parvati talked non-stop while they got dressed, and though Hermione wasn't interested in the topic of conversation (cosmetic charms), she did wish just a little bit that she had a girlfriend or two to talk with. Harry and Ron were great, of course, but they were… well, boys. And Ginny was nice, but she was a year younger than Hermione and had her own group of friends. Oh well, she thought slinging her cloak over her arm. She grabbed her scarf, hat and gloves out of her dresser and headed down to breakfast.

Ron and Harry were waiting for her in the common room. "What're you loaded down with all that for?" Ron asked.

"I didn't want to come back up here and get it after breakfast. We are going to Hogsmeade after we eat, right?"

"Oh yeah," said Ron. "Harry, let's go get our stuff too." Hermione waited while the boys ran up to their room to grab their cloaks, then they were off to the Great Hall. As they entered, Hermione felt a weird sensation on the back of her neck—like someone was watching her—but when she looked around she didn't notice anyone staring at her. She sat down and poured herself some tea and felt it again, but once more, she didn't see anyone looking at her, not even at the head table. She shrugged and continued eating breakfast in silence, the boys to her left avidly debating the merits of the old Firebolt broomstick compared to the newest model, the Firebolt 3000. Ron, Seamus and Dean were absorbed in the conversation, but Harry stayed on the edges. He seemed exhausted. Hermione assumed the long holiday without any company had taken its toll on him. He would be fine soon enough.

As she and her friends were finishing their meal, Draco Malfoy sauntered over, his "bodyguards" Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle curiously absent from their usual posts at his back.

"Morning, Gryffindorks," he sneered.

"Where're your goons today, Malfoy?" asked Harry, fingers already hovering over his wand. Hermione tensed. She had a feeling this would not end well.

"Both in the hospital wing. They came down with some mysterious illness a few days ago."

"Pity," said Ron breezily. Next to him Ginny started choking on her milk and he patted her on the back in a brotherly way.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" asked Harry. He was gripping his wand under the table now. Calm down, Harry, Hermione thought. Just ignore him. It's not a big deal… yet.

"Oh, I was just wondering how Granger's enjoying her detentions. She's been getting a lot lately." Hermione stiffened.

"She's only ever had two," Ron said, face already flushing. "How many have you had, ferret?"

"Too many, and all of them thanks to you!" Yep, there goes that muscle in his jaw, Hermione thought, watching it twitch at the use of his nickname. She smiled.

"What are you grinning at, Mudblood? I thought your grandmother just died." Harry leapt to his feet, Ron right beside him. Malfoy ignored them both and leaned down into Hermione's face. She willed herself to stay seated, to keep her hands in her lap. Hitting Malfoy back in their third year had felt great, but the only reason she had done it was because there was no one around. As much as she longed to hit him again right now, she couldn't, not in the middle of the Great Hall.

"She was a filthy Muggle just like your parents," he whispered, his face inching toward her own. "Good riddance, I say."

That was too much for Harry. He jumped in between Malfoy and Hermione, brandishing his wand like the very sword of Godric Gryffindor. "Shut up!" he yelled. "Leave her alone!"

Malfoy stepped back and removed his own wand from his pocket. "Make me."

"I'd love to Malfoy, you know I would," Harry said, teeth clenched. Hermione gripped the edges of the bench. "I'd love to end it all, right now. Just give me a reason."

"Touching, Potter, really," Malfoy said, stepping closer to Harry. "Defending the lady's honor and all that. I could just about puke."

"I'm warning you… one more word and I'll hex you into next…" He trailed off as a familiar black-clad figure strode into view.

"Explain," said Professor Snape. How does he always manage to show up when Harry and Malfoy are fighting? Hermione wondered. He always arrives just in time to save his precious Slytherin's hide and get Harry in trouble. She was still furious at him about last night.

Harry and Malfoy started talking at the same time, and Ron jumped in too. "Silence!" shouted the professor. Half the Great Hall stopped talking. He looked around menacingly, as if daring anyone else to put one toe out of line. Turning back to the three boys in front of him, he told Malfoy to explain. The boy told his version of the story, which Harry of course protested vehemently.

While Malfoy was talking, Professor Snape got a strange look in his eyes, a mix of hunger and deep sorrow, as he stared at Hermione. She looked back at him, but he seemed not to see her. It was as if he were somewhere else. She felt that strange sensation on the back of her neck again, but she could see no one watching her when she whipped her head around. She asked Professor Snape if he was feeling alright and he yelled at her, but without his usual coldness and sarcasm. Odd, she thought. What's wrong with him?

The confrontation ended with the Potions Master unfairly taking twenty points from Gryffindor and ordering them all out of the Great Hall. Ron muttered horrible things under his breath as Harry glared at Malfoy and patted Hermione's arm comfortingly.

"Don't let them get to you," he said. "They're idiots. Malfoy and Snape."

"I know, Harry. Believe me, I know. I almost wish you had hexed him. Both of them."

"So do I!" Harry used a few words Hermione didn't like to hear her friend say, but at the moment, she happened to agree. She, Ron and Harry put on their cloaks and things and went out into the swirling snow towards Hogsmeade. Filch was checking off names on a list, making sure that only the students with parental permission were leaving the grounds. (For the third year in a row, Dumbledore had accepted the "permission slip" Harry's late godfather, Sirius, had signed as sufficient to allow him off the grounds.) Filch eyed them suspiciously, but allowed them through the gates, the winged boars on the posts covered in ice and snow.

Hermione breathed deeply; she was glad to be out of the castle for the day. Ron and Harry were going on about Quidditch as usual, so she tuned them out and listened instead to the wind rattling the branches on the bare, frost-covered trees and the crunch of her boots in the deep snow. Yes, it was nice to be out, even if her fingers were already almost numb. She liked the way snowflakes caught in her hair and how the chill made her cheeks flush pink; she thought it would make her look romantic. If I had anyone to appreciate that kind of thing. Sometimes she missed Viktor, his sweetness and gentleness. She missed having a boyfriend, period. Stop it, she told herself. She wrapped her scarf tighter and pushed those thoughts away, not wanting to dwell on anything depressing on a day of crisp, white freedom like this one.

"Where shall we go first?" asked Harry when they arrived at Hogsmeade, breaking Hermione out of her thoughts. "We're meeting Ginny and Neville at The Three Broomsticks for lunch, but that's not 'til later."

"I want to stop by and see Fred and George before we go back," said Ron, "but that can wait too."

"Well," began Hermione, "I know you two will want to go to the Quidditch shop. I can kill some time in the bookstore while you're in there. And then shall we go to Honeydukes before lunch?" Normally they would've visited Zonko's Joke Shop as well, but quite a few Hogwarts students who knew the Weasley twins from school had unofficially boycotted Zonko's in favor of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.

"Sounds good," Harry said, already backing away towards Quality Quidditch Supplies.

"Meet you at Honeydukes in an hour!" Ron called over his shoulder. He and Harry were already sprinting to their favourite store. Hermione sighed and smiled at her best friends, then walked briskly to her favourite store: Lady Tohmala's Books.

Lady Tohmala's wasn't nearly as impressive as Flourish and Blott's bookstore in Diagon Alley; F&B had a coffee and tea bar, stylish modern moving paintings on the walls, and everything seemed brand new and sparkling. Lady Tohmala's was an old house that had been converted into a bookstore. It was two stories high with a basement for storage and a tiny attic room. The checkout counter was the breakfast bar in the kitchen, and Lady Tohmala herself, a kind woman with long gray hair she wore in a braid down her back, gave out free mugs of hot tea for her customers to sip as they browsed the shelves. The carpets were old and worn, and every room was so full of bookshelves there was no place to hang even one painting. The attic was full of comfy, broken-in armchairs and low tables with lamps on them. Hermione liked to go up there with her tea and a book and read until she lost track of time. The best thing was that Lady Tohmala didn't mind if you were in there for hours without buying a thing.

Hermione was happily ensconced upstairs with a cup of Earl Grey and a copy of An Anthology of Nineteenth-Century Charms when the grandfather clock in the corner struck eleven. It had been an hour and a half since she'd left the boys! Tucking her wand back into her pocket (she'd been practicing the wand movements for an unbuttoning spell; apparently Victorian robes had had a lot of buttons), she rose and took her mug and book with her. After replacing the book on its shelf and returning the mug to a smiling Lady Tohmala, she hurried out into the street. The sun was shining now, but clouds loomed all around the edges of town. She thought there might be a blizzard tonight.

I bet the boys haven't even noticed the time, she thought. She peeked in the windows of Honeydukes, but they weren't in there. Of course. When she arrived at Quality Quidditch Supplies, she found Ron and Harry talking to Oliver Wood. The former Gryffindor Quidditch team captain had been playing in the minor leagues since he graduated four years ago and was regaling her friends with tales of his many matches as a keeper.

"You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago," scolded Hermione after they said goodbye to Oliver. She wasn't really angry, but she had to make them feel a little guilty for forgetting.

"Well, I notice you didn't come looking for us!" said Ron.

"Hermione, you just got caught up reading, right?" asked Harry, ever the peace-maker. Hermione nodded. "And you know Ron and I lose track of time in here. So shall we go?" They went back out into the chilly sunshine. Ron elbowed her on their way out the door, smiling. She elbowed him back and giggled. He shoved her, playfully but hard, and she fell on her side in the foot-deep snow, laughing her head off. Harry stood to the side chuckling.

"Oh, you're going to get it!" she shouted, struggling to get up.

"Really?" Ron asked, scooping up a handful of snow. "I'm sooo scared." He packed it into a large ball as Hermione stood, but she ducked when he threw it and it sailed over her head. "Uh-oh," Ron said putting on a fake expression of terror as Hermione made a snowball. She raised her arm to throw it, paused, then turned and pelted Harry right in the chest.

"Alright," Harry yelled running to tackle her, "this means war!"

Fifteen minutes later, soaking wet and freezing but still giggling, the three of them entered the warmth and sweetness of Honeydukes. They each bought a Roasted Marshmallow first, which warmed them all the way to their toes as they walked around the sweets shop. Harry got a bag of Pepper Imps and he and Ron blew fire back and forth across the shop at each other. Hermione wasn't overly fond of sweets (having grown up with dentist parents, she wasn't allowed them often), but her one weakness was chocolate. She didn't care about the chocolate frogs that came with collectable cards, but she did buy a few blocks of various types of chocolate; mint-chocolate, fudge with walnuts, and her favourite, plain dark chocolate. Ron got a couple Fizzing Whizbees and ate one on the way to The Three Broomsticks. He levitated a few inches above the snow so Harry and Hermione each took an end of his scarf and dragged him along.

When they got to the pub Ginny and Neville were already there. The five Gryffindors decided soup sounded good on a cold day like this, and Madam Rosmerta, the hostess, took their orders right away. Hermione relaxed and drank in the sight of her friends by the warm glow of the fireplace, the smell of the various soups around the scrubbed wooden table, the laughter. I wish this day would last for a very long time, she thought.

...

Instead of going straight down to his dungeon rooms after leaving breakfast, Severus went first to the hospital wing to get a dose of headache cure from Madam Pomfrey. "Why don't you take the whole bottle, Severus, you've been needing it a lot lately," she said. He accepted a full bottle of the clear pink liquid from the mediwitch with a simple "Thank you" as he noticed Crabbe and Goyle lying silently in cots further down the wall. No big loss there, he thought. He didn't tell her how grateful he was that she'd given him the whole bottle since his own had just run completely out, but he was appreciative. Sleep deprivation did horrible things to his head. He still wasn't sleeping well because of his nightmares, and then last night… was not exactly restful

He arrived at his door and said the passwords to disarm the wards he kept on it, and then reactivated them as soon as the door was shut behind him. Severus sank into his chair by the fire and summoned a measuring spoon from the bottom drawer of his potions cabinet, but as he was about to pour the potion into the spoon, he noticed the label on the bottle. "Headache Cure, Jan. 12" it said in oddly familiar printing. He studied the label a moment more before he recognized it. Hermione Granger made this!

The thought shocked him back to memories of his dream. Apparently pleasant dreams meant… well… Oh just say it! Sexual!

Disgusted, Severus threw down the spoon, leapt out of his chair and began pacing the length of his living room, desk to doorway, desk to doorway. The headache cure potion he'd almost taken wasn't even her best work! He knew it, too, he was the one who'd inspected it. He glared at the bottle still clenched in his hand. It wasn't exactly the right shade of pink and it smelled slightly sweeter than it should. Sure, her burn-healing paste was perfect and the memory charm she'd made a few weeks prior to that was amazing, but… Well actually, she was quite excellent at brewing potions, he had to admit.

But that was no excuse! No excuse for what, exactly? he wondered.

Shut up, he replied. Dumbledore had said all her professors should write her letters of recommendation for university, but why should he? She'd shouted at him during her detention in his own classroom! He hadn't retaliated, though, because… well, he just hadn't yet. He should! I will! I'll give her another detention. No, detention every week for a month! But that means I'll have to put up with her more. Annoying little Gryffindor… I could use her potions-brewing skill, though. Detentions it is!

Although… he didn't really want to give a girl with such a perfect record more detentions. All professors knew that the only records to go on to University were the grades of the students, not detentions, sick days or anything else… but still. He really would like her to make potions for him, though; she did have talent. Let's see… Think, Severus! Extra credit project? She doesn't need it. Aha! I know! It was a perfect idea. That way she'll make the potions Madam Pomfrey asks for, as well as the ones I use, and I'll have more time to grade papers and read. Excellent. And I'll get to be with her more. Not that I'd want to, really. She's a Gryffindor and a student. Just for the sake of… observing her skills, yes.

Oh, come on, said the voice in the very back of his brain that tried to convince him to do things that would end badly. You know you want to be near her. Ever since that first detention you've been thinking about her.

Shut up! the front of his brain responded. But he was listening.

You want to watch her hands, the skill with which they handle the ingredients and tools. You want to be near her and watch her. Anyway, you get so little real pleasure in your life; why deny yourself this simple, innocent little thing? Nothing will happen. You'll just watch her.

Indeed… Severus thought, almost feeling her breath on his cheek, her body pressed urgently against his. He set the bottle down absently. Alright. I'll talk to her when she gets back from Hogsmeade.

And that was that.

...

After lunch, Hermione watched as Ginny quickly kissed Neville goodbye. Harry and Ron made faces and Neville blushed, then the girls went off to Gladrags Wizardwear and the boys went back to the Quidditch shop. Hermione smiled at the couple's little display of affection. They'd started dating early last school year; Neville worshiped the ground Ginny walked on and did anything she asked, and she thought he was the sweetest person in the world.

"Is that the bracelet Neville got you for Christmas?" Hermione asked, spotting a glint of silver on the other girl's wrist.

"Yes," said Ginny, holding out her arm so Hermione could admire the charm bracelet. She positively glowed.

"Very pretty," Hermione said. There were five charms: an owl, a broomstick, a quaffle (Ginny was one of the Gryffindor Chasers this year), a heart and a book.

"The book opens up, see?" Ginny opened the book that was no bigger than her fingernail. Inside it said "I <3 You." "And the owl hoots if you pet it," she said demonstrating.

"How sweet. He's a really nice guy. You two are lucky." Hermione was really happy for them. And not jealous. Not at all jealous.

"I know." Ginny sighed and smiled.

After spending about half an hour browsing in Gladrags, they got the boys from Quality Quidditch and went to see Fred and George at their store. Their business in Diagon Alley had grown too large, and since there weren't any other buildings to rent there they had moved to Hogsmeade last summer. The five friends got to test a new product, Insulting Inkers.

"It looks just like a normal quill. You give it to someone who needs to borrow one, right?" said George.

"But when they use it, it just writes insulting things about the writer," explained Fred.

"Here, try it," said George, handing a pure white quill to Harry.

"My name is Harry Potter," he said writing with it on a scrap of parchment Fred handed him. What ended up on the paper, though, was "Nice scar you have there, four-eyes." Everyone cracked up.

"Let me try it," Ginny said. "Lovely day today," she said as she wrote, but the words on the parchment read "Bugger off, freckle face!"

They all talked with Fred and George and played with the various items in the joke shop for almost an hour before they decided they should get back to Hogwarts.

"Tell Dumbledore we said hello," the twins called out after them.

"We will," Hermione called back. It was cloudy again and starting to snow. By the time they reached the front doors to the castle it was coming down in buckets. They stopped in the entrance hall to stomp the snow off their boots and brush it from their hair and cloaks, chatting noisily. Suddenly a shadow in the corner spoke.

"Miss Granger," it said, stepping forward to reveal itself as Professor Snape. "I'd like a word with you in my office." He turned on his heel and strode towards the dungeons.

Everyone in the entrance hall fell deadly quiet. This is it, Hermione thought. I was wondering how long he'd wait to assign a punishment for what I did last night. I hope it's not too bad. "See you at supper, everyone," she said, putting on a false smile. Harry patted her shoulder, Ginny squeezed her hand, Neville gave her a sympathetic look and Ron mouthed "Good luck" at her before she walked off after the Potions Master. I'm sure I'll need it, she thought.

...

Severus had been standing in the far corner of the entrance hall for half an hour before Hermione Granger got back from Hogsmeade. He watched out the window on the opposite wall as the snow fell harder and harder and the sunlight dimmed from white-gold to grey. Standing straight and tall for so long hurt his back, so he snapped at passing students, scaring them as he seemingly materialized from the wall. This helped him feel momentarily better.

And then she arrived, laughing and smiling with her friends. There were snowflakes caught in her hair and her cheeks were becomingly flushed from the cold. She looked… romantic, he thought. She really was rather pretty…

"Becomingly?" Get a grip, he told himself.

"Miss Granger," he said, stepping from the shadows. "I'd like a word with you in my office." He turned abruptly and stalked off to his classroom. A moment later he heard her footsteps behind him, but didn't turn around. He unlocked his office with the correct passwords muttered under his breath and preceded her into his classroom. Once they were in his office, he shut the door and told her to take a seat. She sat in the hard wooden chair in front of his desk and he lowered himself into the padded seat behind it. He let her fidget nervously for a moment before beginning.

"Professor Dumbledore informed the staff at our last meeting that it would be beneficial to you if you received letters of recommendation from your professors to bring to University."

"Yes sir, very." She looked confused and fidgeted with her gloves, and then took them off.

"I am unwilling to do so." He watched all the color drain from her face before he went on. "However. If you will come to the Potions classroom Tuesday and Friday nights at seven o'clock from now until the end of school and brew what potions I assign you to my satisfaction, you shall receive your letter."

She chewed on her bottom lip and unwound her scarf, then piled it in her lap with her gloves. "I thought my potions have been dismal." she said. She has some nerve, thought Severus, but couldn't help admiring her for it.

"There is always room for improvement," he said, but caught himself before he added "Hermione." You are not on a first name basis with this girl, he chided himself, and you never will be! Your personal encounter in a dream does not entitle you to that privilege!

"Miss Granger," he said, "you are extremely lucky I didn't report what you did and said last night to Professor Dumbledore." He could tell she dearly wanted to ask why, but thought the better of it. "I should think you would jump at the generous offer I've made you lest I let him know. Do you agree?"

"Yes sir," she said without hesitating, obviously relieved.

"You may go. I will see you in my classroom at exactly seven o'clock Tuesday evening." She hastily gathered her things and rushed out of his office.

There you have it, Severus, he told himself. Your own personal potion-brewer.


	7. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

"Wow, Hermione, he didn't say anything about it?"

"No, Ron, not a thing." She was still in shock from her meeting with Professor Snape, even after telling the boys all of what he'd said.

"You yelled and swore at him last night and he didn't do anything at all about it?"

"Yes, for the tenth time, yes, he didn't say a thing!" She was getting a little annoyed.

"Wonder why," said Harry as the three of them walked down to supper.

"Who cares?" yelled Ron. "She's off the hook!"

"Knowing Snape, he's probably got something worse planned," said Harry. "I bet he'll give you loads of really difficult potions to do when you're in there. How are you going to stand it?"

"I'll be fine. I mean, I've already had two detentions with him. And if it's just making potions, it's not a big deal. He'll just sit there and scowl and grade papers while I brew whatever potions he wants me to. If the directions and things are all right there on paper, how hard can it be? Besides, I could really do with a recommendation letter from one of the top Potions Masters in Britain."

"He's really one of the top?" asked Ron.

"Yes. He's mentioned in Important Modern Magical Discoveries, actually."

"What for?" asked Harry.

"He invented the Wolfsbane Potion a few years after he graduated from Hogwarts."

"Whoa… when he knew it would help Lupin?" marveled Ron. "He hated Lupin! And probably all other werewolves."

"I know," said Hermione. "Strange, isn't it?"

"I'll bet Dumbledore had something to do with it," said Harry as they arrived at the Great Hall. Ron and Hermione agreed.

The rest of the weekend passed quickly. Hermione planned out five pages of notes on what to study for the N.E.W.T.s Saturday night. Ron and Harry, along with Ginny and the other Gryffindor players, were on the Quiddtch field for practice almost all of Sunday. Wind-whipped and freezing cold they ate dinner in silence (Hermione thought it was a nice change of pace to eat one meal in peace, without any Quidditch talk) before retiring to the common room. Hermione paged through Jane Eyre while Ron and Harry played chess. Ron won, as usual, but she noticed Harry was definitely improving.

Soon they all went to bed, but Hermione lay awake thinking for a long time. Why didn't Professor Snape punish me for what I did Friday night? What could have possibly happened between then and Saturday afternoon to make him either forget it or forgive me? What if he's just biding his time until he can really crush me? The questions spun around and around inside her head, not allowing her to sleep or relax. It was very late when her exhausted brain finally decided to let her drop off to sleep.

Monday morning she was tired and cranky, but after turning a spinning wheel into a sofa on her first try in Transfiguration she was in a much better mood. Charms passed quickly and Arithmancy after lunch was a breeze. All too soon it was Tuesday. She had been dreading that evening, and for good reason. She didn't know what Professor Snape would do. Relax, Hermione. It's going to be fine. Just keep your big mouth shut and it'll be all right. You'll quietly brew your potion and Professor Snape will sit at his desk and sneer. It'll be fine.

She was wrong.

...

Severus had somewhat been looking forward to Tuesday evening all weekend. He wouldn't let himself examine too closely the reason, though. That led to thoughts he knew he shouldn't even be thinking about having. Thoughts of Hermione—Granger!—and his dream. The memories weren't fading with the days; if anything they were becoming clearer and sharper in his mind. In the middle of his second year Slytherin and Gryffindor class Tuesday morning he drifted off smelling the scent of her hair and tasting the salt of her skin.

Due to his lack of attention to the class the Creevey twins blew up their wart-removing potion before it was finished, causing everyone within a four foot radius to sprout large green warts everywhere. Severus shouted at them and gave them detention with Hagrid and his "pets" for the next night. When the non-warty students had finished their potions, Severus chose the best brew and gave it to the afflicted children, curing them within minutes.

The rest of his day was uneventful and after supper he hurried back to his classroom to prepare for Miss Granger's work. She would be making the potion equivalent of the spell "Finite Incantatem." When taken, it would stop all effects of the previous potion the drinker had taken, whether they'd imbibed it an hour or a month before. It was very useful for classes with younger or extremely incompetent students when the result of a potion gone awry needed to be counteracted. With the Creevey twins somehow still alive (unfortunately), Severus knew he would need a lot of it.

He had just finished setting out the mortar and pestle and laying the instructions on the side of the table when the doorknob glowed. He strode over and opened the door abruptly, startling Hermione who had just raised her hand to knock. Severus allowed himself a moment to enjoy the expression on her flushed face before snapping "Come in." She entered and immediately went to her place behind the desk nearest his own. Her red face made him remember his dream, when her countenance was flushed as he… He shook himself slightly to bring his mind back to the present; fortunately she didn't see it.

"You will be making the Finite Medicamentum potion. I trust you are familiar with it?" She nodded. "Begin." He seated himself behind his desk and watched as she began snipping the Jobberknoll feathers into tiny pieces. She poured ice plant extract (very costly; it was extremely difficult to remove a large amount of liquid from the tiny leaves of the succulent plant) into the cauldron he had provided and added the feathers. She bent down to retrieve her wand from her bag and lit a small fire under the cauldron with it.

Realizing he had been leaning forward to watch her, Severus made himself lean back in his seat. It creaked and Hermione glanced up at him. Caught off guard, his heart skipped and it took him a moment to paste a fearful scowl on his face. If she noticed the pause, she gave no indication. He took several deep, slow breaths to calm himself; he just noticed his heart was doing double-time. Once his pulse was closer to normal he removed a stack of first-year essays from the bottom drawer of his desk and got out his quill and pot of red ink to begin grading them. For a while it succeeded in removing his thoughts from Miss Granger—Confusing a bezoar with a baobab! Indeed! he thought as he made big red slashes across a page—but the splashing noises as she dropped thick, heavy bits of dragon eggshells into the cauldron drew his attention.

Don't you think you should go over and see how she's doing? whispered the give-in-go-ahead voice at the back of his brain.

Yes, I think I should, replied Front-of-the-brain Severus. He rose and went over to Hermione's desk.

"Everything all right, sir?" she asked timidly.

"I feel the need, after seeing the results of your last few potions, to keep a closer eye on you as you brew."

"Yes sir." She continued to stir in the dragon eggshells with her wand. Both watched as they faded from glittering red on one side and opalescent white on the other to dull pink and chalky grey. When she dipped the sieve into the cauldron to strain out the used eggshells, Severus stepped closer. He was directly behind her now and he could tell he was making her nervous. As he unconsciously breathed in the scent of her hair—apple shampoo with a hint of perspiration—he thought, Let her be nervous, the irritating little Gryffindor.

She was little; the top of her head barely reached his chin. For a moment Severus imagined turning her to face him, wrapping his arms around her small body, bending his lips to hers… He abruptly stopped that train of thought in its tracks. The engine was still running, however; he didn't step back.

Hermione reached for the mortar and pestle and began grinding the ginger roots and still he did not move. I'll bet her hair feels wonderful, whispered the back of his mind. I'll bet she wouldn't even notice if you touched it, very lightly. He was inclined to agree. What could it hurt? And he did so want to feel that golden brown softness…

As she was about to pour the powder into the cauldron, the give-in-go-ahead part of Severus' brain made him move his arm up and stroke a strand of her hair with the back of one finger. She jumped and almost dropped the stone bowl into the cauldron. "Sir?" she asked shakily as she stepped to the side and away from him.

"Your hair was about to fall into the cauldron," he growled. He was even more shaken than she, though he did not show it. "Since that would be detrimental to the potion, I moved it in order to save the, ah, potion."

"Um, thank you." Nervously she went back to the cauldron and dumped in the ginger root, but Severus was already striding quickly back to his desk. Damn it, man, control yourself! What has gotten into you? He sat heavily in his chair and picked up his quill. If you carry on like this something horrid is sure to happen soon. You've lived your whole life in complete control of your actions, expressions, words… don't let a stupid physical infatuation with a stupid Gryffindor girl ruin that! Furious at himself, he resumed grading the essays in front of him. He looked up only when he was halfway through the stack. Miss Granger was pouring the pale orange potion into clear glass bottles and labeling them in her precise printing without being told.

"Is that all, sir?" she asked after she'd washed out the cauldron under the gargoyle-head faucets at the side of the room. She was already inching toward the door.

"Quite all, thank you. I shall see you in class tomorrow." She shut the door quietly behind her. Severus heard her hurried footsteps fade away down the corridor as he rested his head on his arms. Merlin's beard, what is the matter with me?

...

"Hey, Hermione," Harry said as she entered the common room at about nine that evening.

"Where you been?" asked Ron.

"Hello? Snape's classroom? Making potions?" Hermione whapped him on the back of his head as she walked by him. "Honestly, Ron, you're totally oblivious sometimes. Make that most of the time." She took a seat on the floor next to Harry and glared up at Ron where he sat in an armchair.

"Well excuse me for not being totally aware of every detail of your life," he sulked as he smoothed down his hair where she'd ruffled it up.

"Knock it off, guys," Harry said. "How'd it go?"

"Weird. For the first half of it, he stood right behind me, making me nervous, you know? Watching every little thing I did. After that he sat at his desk and completely ignored me."

"I'd rather be ignored by Snape than have him watch me every second," said Ron.

"Me too. I just thought it was strange. He even moved my hair out of the way when it was about to fall into the cauldron. Scared me to death."

"I don't think it's strange," said Harry. "He probably wants to keep you guessing. So you won't know if he'll be watching you like a hawk or leaving you alone. He wants to keep you paranoid to get back at you for yelling at him."

"Yes, that sounds like him. I just…" She stopped.

"What?" asked Harry.

"It's silly, really, I'm sure it's nothing."

"Come on," said Ron.

"Well… Saturday morning during breakfast I kept getting this weird tingling feeling on the back of my neck like someone was watching me. When Professor Snape came over to separate you and Malfoy," she looked at Harry, "I felt it again. I've felt it a few times more in the Great Hall and in the corridors too."

"Maybe you have a secret admirer," teased Ron.

"No, I don't think so. See… this evening when Professor Snape was watching me work, I felt it again."

"So you think Snape's the one that's been watching you?" asked Harry.

"Ew," said Ron making a face. "What on earth for?"

"Thanks," said Hermione.

"I didn't mean it like that. Just… weird."

"Definitely," agreed Harry. "Probably just getting back at you for yelling at him. Again, keeping you paranoid."

"Yes, I'm sure you're right," sighed Hermione. She took a few books out of her bag and spread them around her on the floor. "I've got to study now."

"For a change," Ron muttered under his breath. Hermione ignored him.

Harry and Ron played chess and Harry won one of the three games. Hermione, thankful for their relative silence, immersed herself in studying the theory behind Transfiguration. It was really fascinating to learn how the matter of the object actually rearranged its molecular structure to form a new object. Wizards prided themselves on having discovered the existence of molecules before Muggles, but Hermione had done some research on the subject and found out that the difference in discovery time wasn't even a year.

The following afternoon Hermione nervously took her seat at the rear of the Potions classroom. Who knew what Professor Snape would subject her to in front of her peers? Tormenting her in private was one thing, but torturing her in front of eleven other students was another.

Strangely enough, the professor completely ignored her all afternoon. It wasn't unusual for him to pretend not to see her hand waving in the air when she wanted to answer a question, but he didn't look at her once; not even when she placed her finished potion (flawless, as usual) in its bottle on his desk at the end of class. What is he playing at? she wondered. Oh well. It was rather nice to not have been yelled at, condescended to or looked down upon for a whole Potions lesson. But he'll probably be twice as bad on Friday as he was on Tuesday.

She was right.

...

Severus rarely drank, but tonight, Friday, he would make an exception. A big, big exception.

Dinner had gone…well… he'd only glanced at Miss Granger once. However, she'd whipped her head around to stare up at the head table and he had the sinking feeling he'd been caught. Suddenly not very hungry anymore he left the Great Hall and went to his classroom where he nervously prepared for the evening's work. He constantly had to tell himself to not get so worked up. It's just like a detention. A detention with a physically attractive young woman. Stop! Stop stop stop! You see, you keep doing it to yourself, Severus. Just shut your stupid brain off!

Amazingly, that worked. He moved about the room like a man enchanted, taking things off shelves and placing them on the desk nearest his own out of habit. Then Hermione arrived. When he saw the doorknob glow his heart began to race and his breathing became audible. He settled himself behind his desk and made his shaking hand dip his quill into the ink before he called "Enter."

She looked almost as nervous as he felt. He didn't blame the poor girl; he'd scared her Tuesday night and totally ignored her during class on Wednesday. She didn't know what to expect from him. She'd quickly begun work on the assigned potion while he sat at his desk and tried to concentrate on grading quizzes.

After only a few minutes—oh, Merlin, he hated to even think about it—he made the mistake of getting up and standing behind her again. She said nothing and continued brewing the potion. (It was a simple pain-relieving potion Madam Pomfrey had requested; Severus hadn't been able to think up anything else for her do to.) Almost unconsciously he moved even closer to her. He noticed her suppress a shudder as he loomed over her. Her hands shook slightly as she measured ingredients. He inhaled her scent, now more sweat than shampoo. He felt—No, no, it can't be, not now!—a familiar heat and tightness in his groin. No, Severus, you can't do this! She's a student, a Gryffindor, you can't think like this! What's wrong with you? You—oh, Merlin, oh… His thoughts ceased as she turned and her robes brushed his crotch ever so softly. This gentlest touch sent him reeling. His mind was whisked away to thoughts of his dream and beyond: things they had already done in his mind and things he wished they could do. He felt the hardness grow more pronounced but could not wrench his mind away from those dark, sweet thoughts.

Without thinking, he reached out and grasped her upper arm roughly, wanting to draw her to him. She dropped the measuring spoon she had been holding and the clank of metal on wood as well as the look of sheer terror on her pale face brought Severus momentarily back to reality. "Out, get out!" he hissed. He realized the fierceness of his grip on her arm suddenly and released her. She might have a bruise in the morning.

"Professor? Wh-what's wrong? Did I do something—"

"Get out, you silly girl. I forgot a very important task I must do immediately and I require the use of this classroom. Leave!" He stepped back quickly and crossed his arms, his long black sleeves conveniently hiding the bulge at the front of his robes.

"I-I'm sorry, sir, I don't—"

"Out!" She grabbed her bag and wand and dashed out the door, tears in her eyes.

Severus extinguished the fire beneath the cauldron and left the tools and ingredients where they were. He nearly sprinted through the passageway to his private rooms. Making sure the wall sealed behind him, he began pacing the length of the living room, desk to door, again and again. A few more nights of this and there will be a permanent track in this rug, he thought.

The feeling in his groin was growing more intense and uncomfortable every second. He entered his bedroom and was on his way to a cold shower when he realized that would only provide temporary relief. He sat down heavily on his bed and removed his shoes, intending to go to sleep and ignore the whole incident. But first I need to… no, I can't! Not like this, not about her! But he was starting to be in pain…

Mechanically he moved the necessary articles of clothing out of the way and, closing his eyes, lay back on his bed. His left hand working furiously, Severus acted out in his head everything he'd imagined back in the classroom, ignoring for the moment the fact that it was a student of his that he was fantasizing about. Just before he was about to come, he stopped altogether. When he was calmer, he began again, thus prolonging his pleasure.

Sweaty and panting, he finally finished. He undressed fully, took a warm shower and washed his hair, and after putting on silk shorts (the only kind of underclothing he would wear) he went to the rarely-used liquor cabinet. No mere glass of wine for him tonight; no, he wanted to get very smashed very quickly. At least tomorrow was Saturday so he could take as long as he needed to recover from the hangover he knew he would have. It wasn't a solution to his problem, but it would make him forget about it for at least one night.

He reached in the back for the nearly-full bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. His hand hovered for a moment over a silver shot glass set with emeralds. It had been his father's. He hated it. Instead, he conjured a cut crystal shot glass with his wand and filled it full. Before he even shut the cabinet door he had tossed the burning amber liquid down his throat. Ogden's burned twice as much as normal whiskey and had a rather unpleasant side effect, but he could usually control that. He set the bottle and glass on the hearth of the fireplace after waving his wand to fill it with flames, and then he gathered the pillows and quilts from his bed and made a little nest in front of the fire. As an afterthought, he retrieved the green leather-bound notebook from the locked and warded bottom drawer of his desk and set it next to the bottle of whiskey. He hadn't given it a thought since he opened it at Christmas.

After his third rather large shot, he was feeling quite woozy. He'd barely eaten dinner and had skipped lunch to supervise the clean-up of an unfortunate accident in his classroom caused by some unruly fourth-years, and alcohol on an empty stomach wasn't a good idea unless one wanted to get drunk quickly. Which Severus did.

He sat with his legs stretched in front of him, leaning back on his elbows, and stared into the fire, letting his loopy mind wander. Promising himself he wouldn't feel guilty about any of his thoughts tonight, he let it wander wherever it pleased.

First stop: Hermione Granger. She was definitely a pretty young woman. Big brown eyes, brown hair a bit on the frizzy side, but oh well. Petite. She would wrap up nicely in his long arms and be able to tuck her head under his chin. Nice little breasts—just enough for a handful. Intelligent. Very intelligent. Top of her class all seven years she'd been at Hogwarts. Unfortunately a Muggle-born. Any Slytherin that saw him associating with her would be appalled. But he wouldn't ever. Associate with her, that is. He was just a greasy, overgrown bat of a Potions Master, twenty years older than she was which would make him… Haha! Thirty-seven years old! I know my own age, good heavens! Haha! Thirty-seven and seventeen. Goodness, I'm over twice her age! Is this shot number four or five? Oh well. He took another.

Second stop on his wanderings: Why was he suddenly so infatuated with the girl? Since his dream a week ago he couldn't stop thinking about her. She'd come in for her detention last Friday night, driven him mad with her pestering questions and stormed off after yelling at him. Then he'd finished brewing the Sweet Dreams potion she'd started, gulped it all down while he was ranting at her in his head, and then gone to sleep and had… Oh, just say it!... sexual dreams about her. The next morning he was shaken, could hardly keep his eyes off her at breakfast. Every time he saw her in real life his mind was filled with visions of her nude body. It was so sudden, so abnormal. He'd taken matters into his own hands, so to speak, thinking of her as he did so. Not just thinking; conjuring up the most erotic, sensual, sometimes kinky images possible. He'd imagined her in various garments, environments and situations, anything and everything involving her and him together.

Severus shook his head roughly, causing him to loose his balance and topple over into the mess of pillows and blankets he'd arranged. He lay there for a moment, feeling the flames warm his pale skin and dry his disheveled, damp hair. He watched the shadows dance in and around the tiny hills and valleys of the blankets and felt comfortably sleepy.

But no, he didn't want to go to sleep yet. He wanted to drink until he passed out; something he hadn't done for many years.

Sitting up slowly to avoid dizziness, Severus took his wand from the hearth and summoned a rather old package of clove cigarettes from the top of a bookcase. They drifted over and he caught it clumsily, finding there were six left in the pack. He lit one with his wand and sucked the sweet smoke into his mouth, not inhaling. He smoked them for the taste, not to fill his lungs with who-knows-what. Holding it in for a few seconds, he let it drift out slowly between his lips and dissipate into the air. Guess I haven't forgotten how to do this, he thought after finishing his first cigarette without coughing or getting smoke in his eyes. He lit the next one with the stub of the first, remembering that Lucius, laughing, always called it "cigarette sex." So very like Lucius. Everything was about sex for that man. Severus shuddered.

He chain-smoked through the rest of the cigarettes, taking an occasional shot of Firewhiskey. Alcohol and sweet mint on his lips, he turned his attention to the beautiful new notebook. Find a good use for this, Albus had written on the inside of the front cover. Hmph, thought Severus. Good use. I have no good use. What am I good for? Terrorizing students? Spying? Scaring Gryffindor girls by standing too close to them?

"Accio quill and ink," he said waving his wand in the direction of his desk. The objects floated over and landed roughly on the hearth next to the book. Severus stretched out on his stomach, extending his considerable length across the rug. He dipped the quill and began to write on the first page of the notebook. Due to his inebriated state, his writing slanted downwards and he smudged the ink on several occasions. His penmanship and spelling, however, remained flawless, as usual.

Good use. What would be a good use? Pouring out my woes and sorrows? Okay, here goes: I'm lusting after a student and I don't know why. It's never happened before. I don't specifically remember lusting after anyone since I was at school. So what's going on? I drink a potion, have some dreams, a few hallucinations, and I can't stop thinking about Hermione Bloody Granger. I do hope that's not her middle name. More whiskey! Goodnight.

He left the notebook open and took another shot. As the fire burned down, so did his energy. He belched once, blowing fire out of his mouth almost to the roof, and passed out before the light from the huge flames had faded. He slept the whole night through, not waking until late the next morning.

Consequently he missed seeing an image appear in the notebook underneath his drunken rambling.

...

What did I do? Hermione thought as she walked quickly back to Gryffindor Tower, arms crossed, shoulders hunched. It's not unusual for Professor Snape to yell like that, but he rarely does it for no apparent reason. She entered the common room and noticed that Harry and Ron were already occupied. They were telling the story of their battle with the Death Eaters in the Department of Mysteries to a bunch of fourth-year girls. Hermione was relieved; she wanted to be alone for now.

After grabbing a few things from her dorm room she made sure she was alone, and then pressed a carved rose on one of her bedposts. She closed her eyes and felt a slight whirling sensation, then opened her eyes on a cozy study with armchairs, a fireplace and a desk. She crossed the room to a huge bathroom. Floor, walls and ceiling were all pale green marble, as were the sink. A giant bathtub in one corner of the room had four steps leading up to it. Hermione turned on the tap and began filling it with steaming hot water. After undressing and laying her robe over the heated towel rack she added a generous amount of lilac-scented bubble bath to the water and climbed in. Being Head Girl definitely had perks. She was the only one allowed to use these rooms, and the only one who knew how to get to them.

Resting her head on the edge of the tub, her hair floating around her in the water, she allowed herself at last to think about what had happened in the Potions classroom. Almost immediately after she had begun brewing the potion, Professor Snape had come to stand right behind her once more, making her extremely nervous and bringing back the tingly feeling on the back of her neck. She had continued for five or ten minutes, shaking and scared, when he suddenly grabbed her arm violently. She'd whirled around and the expression on his face terrified her. She'd never seen him look like that before. It was as if he was somewhere else, but fighting to get back to reality. Then he'd shouted at her to get out, that he'd just remembered something he had to do. But it wasn't like him to forget things. She had always thought of him as an extremely organized man. Something didn't seem right. What if…?

No. No, that's too foolish. I won't even think about that. But…

Well, before Viktor Krum had asked her out fourth year, he'd acted very strange, even more shy and withdrawn than usual. He'd always been hanging around in the library, trying to get up the nerve to talk to her. And then last year, just prior to Ron asking her outside after the Halloween feast, Ron had been even more annoying than usual, picking fights with her at every opportunity, insulting her speech, dress, hair, cat, homework, handwriting, everything.

Professor Snape was acting rather out of character. Usually he stayed as far as possible from all students but recently he'd kept much closer to her than comfort allowed. Usually he took joy (if you could use "joy" and "Snape" in the same sentence) in harassing and humiliating Hermione in class, but Wednesday he'd totally ignored her. And then there was the fact that he was constantly watching her, even when she wasn't in his classroom. Surely it wasn't possible that Professor Snape had… a crush on her, was it?

No, that's a totally ludicrous idea. I'm a student. A Gryffindor. He despises me. Or at least he has for the past six and a half years. Ew, what if he really does fancy me? He's probably twice my age. Too tall. Too cranky. He has very nice hands though. Light, even skin, clean, short nails, long fingers.

She let herself drift in this direction for a while. What could it hurt? Sure, it was a little creepy to think of her Potions Master like this, but no one would ever know. She'd considered possible boyfriends, cute fellow students and celebrities like this before; Viktor, Cedric Diggory, Johnny Depp, Ron, Heath Ledger, Terry Boot, even Harry (though like Ron, he was really more of a brother to her). She relaxed in the hot water—the water in Hogwarts' baths always stayed hot no matter how long you were in them—and closed her eyes.

I'm just tall enough (short enough?) to be able to tuck my head under his chin if he held me. His hair is rather greasy, but it's long and thick—just needs a shampoo or three. His dark eyes could be sexy if they weren't so cold all the time. I wonder what those long hands would feel like on my skin. Would they be cool and dry or warm and moist? Rough or smooth? I wonder what he smells like. What he does in the evenings? I wonder what he's doing right now…

Alright, Hermione, that's enough of that. He's as old as your father, honestly. She stepped out of the tub and dried off with a warm, fluffy mint-green towel, then put on her white terrycloth robe and went into the study. Lighting a fire in the fireplace, she plopped down into an armchair and used a drying spell on her hair. If she let it air dry it would still be damp in the morning.

Morning came, dry hair, armchair and all; she'd fallen asleep gazing into the fire and had the most bizarre dreams. She'd woken with a start, hardly able to believe what she'd dreamt.


	8. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Severus woke up slowly, stretched, looked at the clock on the wall opposite his bed. Ten-thirty! I don't think I've slept this late since… probably the last time I went to bed drunk. He didn't really want to think about that, though.

He glanced at his bedside table, wondering why the hula girl alarm hadn't gone off, but noticed it was already a cube of hematite. Either I was still drunk when I transfigured it so I don't remember doing it, or I was too tired to wake up fully so I don't remember doing it. Both options unnerved him slightly; he didn't know how much he'd drunk last night, and he was usually a light sleeper, so sleeping through doing a spell was very strange.

He sat up quickly and swung his legs off the side of the bed. Two thoughts hit him simultaneously: When did I move from the floor in front of the fire to my bed? and Dear Merlin my head! His hangover hit him hard. It felt as if tiny dwarves with tiny picks and shovels were mining for diamonds in his brain. Also, the giant squid had apparently moved from the lake to his stomach and was now trying to crawl up his throat. As he ran to the bathroom to throw up the meager contents of his stomach, he realized how sore his body was from sleeping on the floor all night. Or most of the night, it seemed.

After wiping his mouth and brushing his teeth he trudged back to bed and slept another half hour. When he woke up, he vomited once more, this time not quite making it to the toilet. Disgusted with himself, he vanished the mess with his wand, brushed his teeth again, and decided to find out what shape the living room was in. Not wanting to get dressed yet, but feeling a little chilly in just his shorts, he pulled on a simple black bathrobe and that tied at his waist, then opened the door to the rest of his apartment.

What he saw, he wasn't expecting. The quilts and pillows were not in a pile in front of the fireplace but folded and stacked neatly on a chair. The crystal shot glass had been washed and was in the liquor cabinet with the almost empty bottle of Ogden's. The green notebook was closed and sitting on the table by his armchair. But worst of all, Dobby the house-elf, dressed in at least five pairs of socks and what looked like old swimming trunks, was setting out Severus' lunch on his desk. A bowl of stew sat on a silver tray along with a mug of tea, a napkin and a spoon. When he heard the door open, Dobby jumped nervously, causing the tray, which he was leviatating onto the desk, to rattle violently.

"Professor Snape, sir," the elf stuttered as the tray landed with a thud, "Dobby was not expecting sir to be up so soon."

"What do you want?" growled Severus, tightening the sash on his robe. No one during his teaching career at Hogwarts had ever seen him less than fully dressed.

"I is bringing sir his lunch. Also…" The house-elf trailed off into silence, rubbing the top of his bald head nervously. "Also I is…"

"Out with it, elf!" Severus yelled. The tiny dwarves in his head began mining again with renewed vigor, so he decided not to yell any more that morning. Luckily his quiet-as-death whisper got even more of an effect than shouting.

"Well, Professor Snape, sir, I is wanting to… wanting to… wanting to check on you."

"Why would you feel the need to 'check on me'?" Severus asked in the aforementioned whisper.

"Well, sir," Dobby whispered confidentially, "Dobby knows Professor Snape has been drinking. Dobby knows about the drinking sir, yes, he knows. Dobby's friend Winky has a drinking problem also—"

"Also?" Severus roared, forgetting his no-yelling rule. "Are you implying that I have a drinking problem, elf?"

"Well, sir, Dobby does not mean no disrespect, sir, but after Dobby came with sir's breakfast this morning and moved sir to his bed—"

"You moved me to my bed?"

"Yes, sir, and turned the beautiful alarm clock that the great wizard, Dumbledore, gave to you into the shiny rock you like. Is sir angry at poor Dobby?"

In fact "sir" was not angry at Dobby; he was quite grateful the house-elf had put him in his bed and shut off his horrid alarm clock. However, Severus was embarrassed that someone, even a house-elf, had seen him passed out drunk on the floor in front of the fire. And for Severus, embarrassed was worse than angry. Embarrassed went way past angry.

"Of course I'm angry, elf!" he yelled in a whisper. "You have no right to meddle in my private business! Now get out of my sight! And don't say a word of this to anyone or else I'll—"

"Yes, sir, Dobby understands, sir," said the house-elf, bowing and nodding. "But Dobby is a paid house-elf, now, thanks to the great Hermione Granger, and Dobby… Dobby was wondering if sir might—"

Severus silenced him with a violent gesture. I can't escape that girl! Severus thought. She's bloody everywhere! "If you are suggesting I bribe you, I am suggesting you get the hell out of my rooms and never say a word about any of this to anyone. Otherwise some nasty potion might find its way into your evening pumpkin juice, and that would be very unfortunate indeed." He was rarely above a bit of threatening.

Dobby quaked with fear. "Yes, sir, not a word, sir, Dobby understands, Professor Snape, sir. Dobby will be going now." With a loud crack the house-elf was gone.

Thank Merlin, Severus thought. He sat at his desk and inhaled the delicious scent of the stew, enjoying the rich aroma of beef and vegetables.

And promptly threw up again.

...

Hermione got up from the armchair and shook her head to try and clear it of the strange dreams she'd had. When that didn't work, she massaged her temples. That didn't work either and she was contemplating banging her head against a wall when she decided she needed to get a grip. It wasn't that bad, she told herself. Just… odd. Definitely odd. More than odd, wrong! Why on earth would I dream about… that? Ugh! She shook her head once more just in case that would dislodge the disturbing images, but it didn't. Oh well, better get going.

After straightening her white bathrobe and gathering the few things she'd brought with her last night, she headed to the far wall of the Head Girl's private rooms. On it was a painting the size of a large door. As with all paintings in Hogwarts, the image on the canvas moved; however, this was a very special picture. It showed her dorm room and everything in it: three four-poster beds with dark red velvet hangings, three armoires, three nightstands and a small table with three chairs around it for studying. The picture was also enchanted to show Hermione what was going on in the room. She watched for a moment as Lavender finished dressing and Parvati fixed her hair. When both girls had left for breakfast, she closed her eyes, took a breath, and stepped through the painting into her room. She came out in the exact spot she had left the room the night before: next to the bedpost with the magic carved rose.

She dressed quickly in blue jeans and a maroon pullover jumper, and then hurried down the stairs to the Great Hall for breakfast. She didn't see Harry or Ron in the common room and figured they were already eating. She glanced at her watch and thought, No wonder they're not here! It's nine-thirty! Although she slept like a log, she never was one to sleep in late. How weird.

Ron and Harry were indeed in the Great Hall, but they certainly hadn't waited to eat until she arrived. They were both on their third helping of waffles. Hermione took a couple and drenched them in warm syrup. She was starving; she'd been too uneasy at supper last night to eat much. She had caught Professor Snape staring at her three times!

"Didn't see you come back from Snape's last night," Ron said with his mouth full.

Hermione jumped at his name. "I was really tired and just wanted to go to bed," she lied. She didn't want to tell her friends she'd been kicked out of Professor Snape's classroom a second time.

"Well you sure slept late enough today," Ron said. Harry kicked him under the table. "What?"

"You okay, Hermione?" Harry asked. Hermione beamed inside; Harry could always detect a problem.

"I'm fine. Just… thinking about the N.E.W.T.s." She knew talk of studying would shut the boys up, and it did, though Harry gave her an uncertain look. She grinned at him, and he seemed satisfied, for he returned to his meal.

After breakfast the three Gryffindors returned to the common room and Hermione made the boys get some homework out of the way. She knew they wouldn't do it after dinner; they'd be too tired from their evening Quidditch practice. After working for an hour and a half they took a walk around the grounds. A few brave souls were ice skating on the frozen lake, but when the giant squid shot up from the bottom and dislodged one end of the ice the skaters got off in a hurry. They visited Hagrid before lunch and listened to him tearily tell the latest news of Norbert, his former pet dragon. Charlie was taking good care of him and wrote Hagrid monthly updates from Romania.

Refusing his last offer of homemade treacle fudge, Hermione, Ron and Harry said goodbye to Hagrid and went back to the castle for lunch. When they finished eating, Ron and Harry went down to the Quidditch field and Hermione headed back to Gryffindor tower.

Her dream had been haunting her all day. She thought if she wrote it down it might get out of her head and stay on the paper. She took a rarely-used blue notebook from the bottom drawer of her dresser, grabbed a pot of ink and a quill from her bag, and then climbed onto her bed and drew the drapes around her for privacy. She wasn't much of a journal person, but occasionally she felt the need to take her thoughts and feelings out and examine them to come up with a logical solution to a problem, or at least a decent conclusion to a particular train of thought.

I had a weird dream last night (she wrote). There was a party in the Great Hall, but I left it. No one would ask me to dance. No one would even talk to me. I was standing alone outside in the snow, just beyond the glow of the windows, when I felt someone come up behind me. He was tall and dark. Not particularly handsome, but he made me feel… safe. Yes, safe. I didn't turn around, didn't even move, but I knew who it was. He stood right behind me, and I could feel such intense warmth from him, heating me all down my back, the backs of my arms and legs. Then he wrapped his arms around me, enveloping me in warmth, and rested his chin on the top of my head. I felt the most incredible sensation between my legs, like the most intense orgasm. He whispered something comforting to me then, I don't know what it was. "Everything will be okay" or "You'll be fine." No. No, now that I really think about it, he said "I'm here now, don't be afraid. You're safe." I became aware then of dark robed figures with white faces surrounding us, coming closer. They'd been there for a while. The light from the windows of the castle disappeared. I was afraid, but in a distant way. I knew he was there with me, keeping me warm, keeping me safe. I felt… loved.

All of a sudden we were in a dark room, lit only with a few candles. We were lying in bed and his arms were still wrapped around me, keeping me warm. Only now I was facing him. I looked up and saw his face. I'd known it was him all along, but seeing him made it all the more real. It was Professor Snape. I realized we were both naked. It was like I was above us in bed, looking down, but in bed too, feeling everything he did to me. I saw every inch of myself, exposed, but he was more indistinct. I mean, I've never seen a man naked before. So the down-there area was blurry.

And he just held me, kissed my forehead, stroked my hair, looked into my eyes. And I felt so safe, so warm and safe and loved. It was peaceful. That was all.

Hermione read back over what she'd just written, then started writing again.

Obviously this comes from thinking about Professor Snape before I fell asleep yesterday night. I let my mind wander and it went a little too far. The part where he stood right behind me was just like when I was working in his classroom, although I didn't feel any warmth from him in real life. The white-faced figures were Death Eaters. I've known Professor Snape was a spy against them since Harry told us he saw the Dark Mark on his arm, so that's where that part came from. It's strange that I felt so peaceful through it all, though. I never thought about Professor Snape as a protector.

Also, we were both outside alone. I know that besides Harry and Ron I don't really have any friends, and Professor Snape is pretty much alone as well. We have that in common, I guess, not really fitting in with anyone.

Then we were in his bed together, naked. I know it was his bed, not just a bed. I don't know where that came from. I guess from wondering about his body last night. But that feeling between my legs…! Amazing! I've pleasured myself before and know what it's like, but I've never felt like that. And Professor Snape made me feel like that just by putting his arms around me! His warm, safe arms… Very strange.

If I'm going to discuss him like this, it feels odd to call him "Professor." His name is Severus Snape. Severus.

She said it out loud, quietly. "Severus." She liked how his name felt in her mouth.

Well, I'm going to have to see Severus Tuesday night, so I'd better stop thinking of him as a lover. Merlin! Severus Snape, my lover. Erg.

He did feel so good though. Too bad he's so much older than me.

...

Severus had finally managed to eat most of the stew and drink two mugs of tea. He had apparently finished vomiting, but his head was still pounding. He considered taking something for his migraine, but felt the need to punish himself for his ludicrous behavior last night. What was I thinking, getting so drunk? Over Hermione Granger, no less. Severus, you idiot! You deserve every bit of what you've gone through since you've woken up. Even the bloody house-elf.

He sat in his armchair after charming the quilts and pillows to rearrange themselves on his bed. Vaguely remembering writing something in his green notebook last night, he read back over the contents of the first page. Well, at least it was nothing too terrible, he thought after he finished. However, I don't remember drawing this picture at the bottom.

The image was in silver ink; Severus had written in black. He didn't even know what it was. It was a long thin cone shape, the pointed end aiming at the top left of the page and the base at the bottom right. There were diagonal lines across it, so if the image was three-dimensional there would be a single line spiraling around the shape.

What on earth is this? It's too long to be a student's hat, too thick to be a wand. And what's that line spiraling around it? I definitely did not draw this; I don't even have silver ink. I'll bet anything Albus gave me an enchanted book. So the book drew it? Why? What does it mean?

He mentally inventoried everything in his rooms, but came up with nothing even slightly resembling the drawing. Next he went over food and drink, utensils, magical items… nothing. What else? It doesn't look like a character from a foreign language, magical or Muggle. A wand, a potion… A potion ingredient! It's not a plant, nor an animal… An animal… It's a unicorn horn! But why did the book draw it for me?

Well, he thought, reverting to his Potions Master mindset, unicorn horn is usually ground or grated. It's difficult to acquire and is used in potions requiring a blurring between reality and fantasy, such as Love Potions, Confusing Concoctions, and Sweet Dreams Syrup. Merlin's shorts! He sat bolt upright, ignoring the effect this had on his headache. Something went wrong with the Sweet Dreams Syrup Hermione made! Severus leapt up and began pacing in his usual track. Obviously she added too much of it. But she never ruins potions. And it was only half-done before she stormed out. After she left I finished it… I must have added the unicorn horn again! I took a double dose of it! No wonder the effects of the potion have lasted this long, even when I was awake. That explains the "visions."

Severus knew how to remedy his problem now. Going back through the last week in his mind, he made sure the Sweet Dreams Syrup was the last potion he'd taken. He strode to his personal supply of potions, removed the bottle of Finite Medicamentum (one of the ones Hermione Granger had filled with her own brew a few days ago) and took a full dose. It tasted strongly of ginger and was icy cold. To make sure it worked, I'll have Miss Granger return tonight to re-brew the pain-relieving potion she started yesterday. If I'm near her and feel nothing, it worked. If not… well, I don't want to think of that.

He sat at his desk and wrote a short, curt letter to Miss Granger ordering her to his classroom that evening at eight. He would have one of his students deliver it to her at supper. Malfoy, perhaps. Potter never could resist fighting with the boy, and taking points from Gryffindor always cheered Severus slightly.

...

After storing her journal back in the bottom drawer, Hermione started working on her Arithmancy essay. She became so immersed in the research that she only looked at the clock when her stomach rumbled too loudly to be ignored. Goodness! Time for supper already! She packed her things away and hurried down to the Great Hall. The Quidditch team was still at practice, so she sat alone at the end of the Gryffindor table. She started on some chicken soup and bread right away to appease her stomach.

Neville arrived after a few minutes with Ginny. She was much paler than usual, so her freckles stood out vibrantly. She looked ill. "What happened?" Hermione asked.

"Nothing," Ginny said airily, but she groaned as Neville helped her to sit.

"That's not a 'nothing' face. Why aren't you at practice with everyone else?"

"She had an accident," Neville said glumly.

"Are you all—" Hermione began, but Ginny cut her off.

"It wasn't an accident! They did it on purpose!"

"Who?"

"Crabbe and Goyle," Ginny said sulkily.

"It's not as if you weren't expecting it," Neville scolded.

"Well they deserved it!" Ginny shouted, but her voice was overpowered by the general noise of the Great Hall so no one noticed. She grabbed a piece of baked chicken and piled mashed potatoes onto her plate.

"Ginny," Hermione said gently, laying a hand on the girl's arm, "tell me what happened."

Ginny stopped eating and folded her hands in her lap. Glaring at her plate, she said, "Last Friday as I was coming down to supper I saw Crabbe and Goyle tormenting Neville."

"It wasn't a big deal," Neville said quietly, but Ginny continued as if she hadn't heard him.

"They'd used Petrificus Totalis on him and were bouncing him around the corridor. He still has bruises, look!" She yanked up the sleeves of his robe and exposed several purple-green-yellow marks which he quickly covered up, embarrassed.

"Ginny, knock it off," he pleaded. "I'm fine."

"You are not fine!" She turned back to Hermione. "So I hexed them."

"What did you do?"

"I'm not sure, exactly," Ginny replied, looking a little uncomfortable. "I was so angry I couldn't think! Then I just left them there and went to supper with Neville. I guess someone found them and took them to the hospital wing. They were there 'til the next Tuesday!" She sounded rather proud. Hermione remembered Malfoy mentioning that his friends were in the hospital wing last Saturday morning before they went to Hogsmeade. She also recalled how Ginny choked when he said it. Now it made sense.

"So today they got even," Ginny went on. "I don't think either of them did the curse—they're too stupid—but halfway through practice today my broom started bucking like mad and threw me off about twenty feet up. Madam Pomfrey patched me up, though, and I'm alright, just a little sore."

"I'll bet Malfoy cast the curse," Hermione said.

"Yeah, me too," said Ginny. "Crabbe and Goyle didn't dare tell anyone that a girl had done that to them, so they decided to get their revenge in private. Also, we can't prove anything, so they can't get in trouble for it."

"Ah, but you can get in trouble for it," said a sneering voice behind Ginny. She, Neville and Hermione looked up into the face of Draco Malfoy, who had apparently heard… well, enough to get Ginny in a load of trouble. "Here, Mudblood," he said, thrusting a roll of parchment at Hermione. "Looks like another detention for you."

Hermione recognized Professor Snape's handwriting on the outside of the scroll and her heart skipped. Telling herself to calm down, she said, "I have an extra-credit project, ferret. Something you could certainly use to improve your grades."

Malfoy didn't even flinch. "Wait 'til Professor Snape hears about your little incident with Crabbe and Goyle, Weasley. You'll spend the rest of your life in detention. You might even get to serve it with the Mudblood. Goodness knows the dungeons would be nicer than what you're used to at home." He turned and walked away, leaving a very red-faced Ginny behind. There was almost a bounce in his step.

The three Gryffindors were in shock. Ginny's face turned quickly from scarlet to deathly white. "Mum's going to kill me," she said, wide-eyed.

"She… she won't kill you, Ginny," Neville said unconvincingly.

"It'll be all right," Hermione lied. "Besides… it was worth it, right? To see those goons who've tormented you and your friends for years flat out on the floor."

"Yeah," said Ginny brightening just a little. "That was nice." Neville put his arm around her.

The three of them ate in silence for a few minutes, trying not to imagine the horrible things Mrs. Weasley might do when she found out what her only daughter had done to two fellow students. Ginny might even get a Howler. Hermione shuddered at the memory of Ron's Howler from his mother second year.

Suddenly Hermione remembered the unopened parchment in her lap. She broke the seal of silver wax stamped with an "S" and read.

Miss Granger:

Since you did not satisfactorily complete the batch of pain-relieving potion yesterday evening, you will finish it tonight. I expect to see you in my classroom at eight o'clock sharp.

Severus Snape

He'd signed his name with a flourish (in black ink, of course), making it nearly illegible. It's not my fault I didn't finish it, you great git! Hermione thought. You threw me out! For the second time this week…

She finished eating quickly and made an excuse to Ginny and Neville, who hardly heard her. She looked at her watch and thought, If I hurry, I can get into my robe and be down in the dungeons in time. Besides making her look more professional for her strict professor, it would keep her warmer in the chilly dungeon. She rushed to Gryffindor tower and grabbed her school robe from her room. On a random impulse, she ran the anti-frizz comb Harry had given her for Christmas through her hair and tried not to think about why. She put her robe on over her sweater and jeans as she walked briskly down the many corridors to Professor Snape's classroom.

As usual, the professor called her in before she even knocked. He must have some kind of charm on the door that alerts him when someone is outside. Or maybe he really can read minds. As usual, everything was set out for her on the desk nearest his own. As usual, he grunted a greeting and told her to begin. As usual, he got up after a while to stand behind her and watch her work.

What was unusual was that nothing else happened. It seemed the norm, now, for something bad to occur during her work. He didn't yell at her, grab her arm or order her to leave. She didn't feel the need to shout at him or ask endless annoying questions. Everything seemed fine.

She added just a pinch of nightshade petals and stirred them in carefully. Although this was an easy potion to prepare and required simple ingredients, it had to be handled with extreme care. The finished product would relieve pain, but during the brewing stage it had a corrosive effect on skin.

With Professor Snape still standing right behind her, she measured and added ingredients for another ten minutes. She was about to add the lionfish spine to the cauldron when a sneeze snuck up on her. Must've been the poppy pollen, she thought right before she let go. She didn't even have time to cover her mouth. Startled, she dropped the fish spine into the cauldron and the resulting red splash just missed her face—except for one drop. It landed on her cheekbone just below her eye and slid down to her chin, then dripped harmlessly onto the desktop.

At first, it just stung a little. Then it began to burn. Hermione turned and backed away from the desk and her professor. "Miss Granger?" he almost shouted, and then walked quickly over to her. "Are you all right?" The pain intensified. Slightly dazed, Hermione marveled at the idea that Professor Snape cared that she was in pain. She lifted her hand to her cheek, but the contact made it hurt worse. Her fingers felt damp, and she saw they had blood on them.

"Here, take this," Professor Snape said, offering her a white cotton handkerchief from a pocket of his robe. Her eyes were shut tight against the pain; she groped for the handkerchief, but couldn't find it. Then she felt the professor's hand press it lightly against her cheek, his other hand holding her chin. She gasped, mostly in pain, but also in shock. Unless he was dragging a student away to yell at them, she couldn't recall Snape ever willingly touching anyone.

She forced her eyes open and looked up at him. He was concentrating on her wound, face full of concern. "Sit down," he ordered, but gently. She sat on the stool he'd summoned behind her while he wet his handkerchief at the sink. When he returned, he told her, "This will hurt," all trace of emotion gone from his voice. She clenched her teeth and tried to force her mind on other things while he firmly but carefully scrubbed out the gash, cleaning it of all traces of the unfinished potion.

Think of something else, she told herself. All right, um, ow! Um, Arithmancy. Chicken soup. That was good chicken soup. OW! Ginny. No, that's depressing, poor girl. Um, my bed. Ow! How I'd like to be in my bed right now, my soft, safe bed. My dream. No! No, why am I thinking about that right now? The man I "saw" naked last night is cleaning my face, I can't think of him, shouldn't think of him. Oh, Merlin, ow ow ow!

"I'm finished," Professor Snape said, stepping back. His voice and face were still blank.

"Thank you," Hermione said breathlessly. She knew she was blushing, but the harder she tried to stop, the pinker she turned.

"How do you feel?"

"It still stings a bit, but I'll live." Actually it was burning like mad, but she didn't want to let him know that.

He sat on the stool next to her and took her chin in his hand, holding it gently, like he'd hold a glass of wine. His black eyes shone in the dungeon torchlight and he tossed his long hair out of his face. He turned her face to better examine the small gash. It felt so nice to be touched like that, tenderly, with care. Hermione studied his face as he examined her wound. He had very pretty eyes with long black lashes, pale skin that wasn't really greasy, just a bit shiny. His nose was rather large, and his forehead a bit high, but she liked his hair. What does it feel like? What if I just reach out and touch it? What would happen? Almost unconsciously she leaned into his touch. His hand was cool and dry.

Her slight movement made him look up into her eyes. They both froze. The back of Hermione's neck tingled, as did her chin where his fingers rested. Still staring into each other's eyes, he brushed his thumb lightly over the corner of her mouth. His thumb felt rough but nice. Her skin buzzed all over. She raised her hand, wanting to brush his hair back…

...

Hermione Granger had arrived exactly on time, as usual. She took her place at the desk nearest his, as usual. She began working immediately, as usual. Severus got up to watch her work, as usual.

What was unusual (at least for the past week) was that he felt no strong sexual attraction to her. His mind didn't drift to thoughts of his dreams or fantasies about her. None of his appendages moved (or grew) involuntarily. He wasn't overwhelmed with the desire to take her roughly in his arms and kiss her senseless. Everything seemed fine.

She added the nightshade petals to the cauldron, just like she did last night when making the Purus Doleo potion. He hovered over her as she measured and added ingredients. Although he felt no physical effects of attraction, he was still thinking about her, and not in an academic sense.

Her hair looked nice tonight, less fuzzy. She smelled very faintly of… What is that little purple flower? Lavender? No, the other one. Lilac! He very much liked the delicate scent on her. He admired the way she gracefully handled the tools and equipment. Her nails were short and rounded, her cuticles trimmed. No scars or other marks. No wait, there's a small scar on the first knuckle of the littlest finger on her right hand. I wonder where it's from. He gave himself a mental shake. You could write a thirty page dissertation on her hands! Stop!

Severus realized that although he wasn't strongly sexually attracted to Hermione anymore, thanks to the Finite Medicamentum potion, he still had some feelings for her. He admired her intelligence, her obvious talent for brewing potions, her wit. He would care if she was insulted or injured. And that was saying something, for him.

A loud sneeze brought Severus back to reality. Apparently Miss Granger had dropped the lionfish spine in and splashed the dangerous potion. Fortunately, she seemed fine. Then she backed away, bent over, her hands shielding her face. "Miss Granger?" he shouted somewhat louder than he meant to. "Are you all right?" She touched her cheek, and he noticed it was bleeding. The potion must have splashed up onto her face. He offered her his handkerchief, but she'd closed her eyes and couldn't see to take it. He patted it against her cheek, then gently told her to sit while he got the cloth wet. Amazingly, water was the only thing that could clean such a dangerous potion out of a wound.

At the sink he wet the handkerchief and made himself get back into Stern Potions Master mode. He'd never used that tone of… concern… for a student before. For almost any human being. Satisfied that he was back to "normal"—whatever that was—he returned to Hermione and wiped out the gash on her cheek. He held her face steady and tried not to marvel at how soft and smooth her skin was.

"I'm finished," he said when he was.

"Thank you," she said. Was she blushing?

"How do you feel?"

"It still stings a bit, but I'll live." She was blushing! Whatever for? Contact with him? Surely not.

But oh, how he wanted to feel her skin once more! Under the pretense of examining the wound, he cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face back and forth. His eyes began roaming the length of the small stripe of blood, then wandered further. Her hair really did look rather nice. She had beautiful eyes with long lashes, silk-soft skin. She was quite short and much too young, but oh, that mouth! What does it feel like? What if I just reach out and touch it? What would happen? Almost unconsciously he stroked the corner of her lips with the rough pad of his thumb. He saw her raise her hand…

And then the door slammed open and Draco Malfoy burst in.


	9. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Professor Snape!" Malfoy yelled without even closing the door of the Potions classroom behind him, "I thought you should know that Gin—"

"Mister Malfoy!" the professor shouted as he leapt to his feet. His stool clattered to the stone floor. "Can you not see that I am busy?"

"Only with Granger, sir," the boy said with disdain.

"Yes, well, Miss Granger's incompetence in the field of Potions apparently knows no bounds. Just now she dropped the lionfish spine into the Purus Doleo too soon—"

"I did not!" Hermione began to protest, but Professor Snape cut her off.

"—and splashed it onto her face, rendering her incapable of finishing the potion once again. Your foolish plan to get out of doing your extra work once more, Miss Granger, was successful, but tomorrow night at eight you shall return and finally finish the potion no matter what. Do I make myself clear?" As he spoke, Malfoy's grin got wider and wider. "Now get to the hospital wing and let Madam Pomfrey tend to your stupidly self-inflicted wound."

Hermione's eyes filled with tears of shock and confusion. She gathered her things and brushed roughly past Snape and Malfoy, who shut the door behind her. Only a moment ago Snape had been so… tender. They had shared something. What would have happened if Malfoy hadn't burst in? What did she want to have happened? Hermione, you stupid girl. To think he cared anything about you. You should know better. He's been a perfect prig for the last, oh, forty years of his life; you expect him to change now? Stupid, stupid, stupid!

As she strode quickly down the corridors to the hospital wing, she continued to berate herself. And you! You thought you cared for him. You thought he was attractive. Well, you know better now. He's ugly, disgusting, inside and out. He probably only touched my lips on accident. There is nothing tender in that horrid man.

Upon arrival at the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey ushered her in and sat her on the edge of a cot. The entire room was empty; apparently the students of Hogwarts had either been very safe or very lucky lately. "You used water to clean it out right away, didn't you?" the concerned nurse asked after Hermione explained what had happened.

"Yes. Professor Snape," Hermione tried not to cringe at his name, "used his handkerchief."

"His handkerchief?" asked Madam Pomfrey, appalled.

"It was clean," Hermione said meekly.

"Well you never know. You could have an infection. He should have used a magically disinfected cotton swab. Infections in potions-induced wounds are very dangerous. I'll have to keep you here overnight. If you're fine in the morning, you may go to breakfast. For now, take off your shoes and lie down. No, I won't hear any protesting, just do as I say." She walked off to her office muttering something about germs and hankies. When she came back, she gave Hermione something to drink that tasted of strawberries. She said it would help kill any bacteria that were already in her system.

Although it was only a quarter to nine, Hermione felt tired. She figured Madam Pomfrey had put something else in the medicine to make her sleep soundly. She crawled under the covers of her cot and the curtains around her closed automatically. She fell asleep trying not to think of how nice Snape's hand felt on her cheek, how his thumb felt as it grazed her lips, how gentle his eyes had been.

...

When Draco entered his classroom, Severus was furious. He knew he shouldn't have touched Hermione—Miss Granger—like that, shouldn't even be thinking of her like that, but… what would have happened if Draco hadn't burst in? What did he want to have happened?

Clearing these thoughts from his mind, he made himself speak coldly enough to Miss Granger to make her despise him; no longer would he imagine there could be a chance that she might like him or enjoy being around him. After saying those things to her, how could she? When she left, he turned his attention back to Draco.

"What is so important, Mister Malfoy, that you had to explode into my classroom in such a disruptive manner to tell me?"

"I overheard Ginny Weasley tell Granger at supper that she was responsible for putting Crabbe and Goyle in the hospital wing last week. Apparently they were teasing Longbottom in the corridor and she hexed them."

"And I should care about this why?" He was still livid at the boy for interrupting… well nothing, really, but he was furious at himself for his idiotic thoughts and actions that evening and had to take out his anger on someone.

Draco looked dumbstruck. "Well…" he stuttered, "she cast spells in the hallways. That's against the rules."

"She is not my student and I see no need to punish her myself. You may inform Professor McGonagall of the incident tomorrow." He honestly did not want to deal with that right now.

Jaw hanging open, a very disappointed Draco muttered, "Yes, sir," and left quietly.

"Good riddance," Severus muttered as he began cleaning up the unfinished potion. Once that was done he went back to his rooms and sat in front of the fire for quite some time. He knew Miss Granger would be fine—Poppy Pomfrey was the best mediwitch he'd ever known—but still he worried. Had he been too harsh with her? Not any more than she was used to from him. But he couldn't stand the thought that the only student he cared for (and it took some effort for him to admit even to himself that he did, indeed, care for her) despised him like all his other students. He was tired of being hated. But what could he do about it? She was a Gryffindor; he was supposed to abhor all non-Slytherin students. She was so pure; he had been a Death Eater. He couldn't allow himself to taint such a beautiful, innocent girl with that darkness.

But Merlin, how he cared for her! It wasn't love, not yet at least, but he would be absolutely distraught if anything bad happened to her. This evening when the caustic potion splashed her smooth white cheek his heart had leapt to his throat at the sight of her blood. He didn't know what he'd do if anything worse happened.

Around and around his mind went, and before he knew it he was pacing. Should I shut her out, treat her as I would any other Gryffindor? Or should I give in just this once, allow this small ray of light into my dark life? I wish I could see her again tonight… But I know she's perfectly well. But what if she's not? Around and around and around.

It was nearly midnight before he came to a decision. Before he could change his mind, he took a deep breath, grasped his wand and closed his eyes. When he opened them he was standing next to Hermione's bed in the hospital wing. She slept peacefully on her back. She's so beautiful, he thought. The moon shone in through the window above her and drenched her in silver light. Severus stood for several minutes entranced by the shadow in the hollow of her throat, the gleam of moonlight on her hair, the sound of her breathing. The gash on her cheek was shallow and seemed less dramatic in the peace of the night.

If only things were different, Severus mused. We're so well-matched in wit and intelligence, if not looks and manner. We could accomplish so much together. Maybe someday, after the Dark Lord and all his allies are defeated… His thoughts trailed off as she stirred slightly. She breathed deeply once, moved her arm, then settled back into the pillows. Severus smoothed her hair without even thinking, then he bent and kissed her forehead. The now almost familiar scent of apple shampoo overwhelmed him and he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, his face still mere inches from hers, all he could see was that perfect pink mouth. He remembered the feel of her lips beneath his thumb earlier that night. How he wanted to feel them again! Before he could think twice, he closed his eyes again and touched his lips to hers. Sleepily she murmured "Severus?" against his mouth. He began to pull away, but her hand was on his cheek and she was leaning up into his kiss.

Stop, you idiot, she doesn't know what she's doing! But he couldn't have stopped if the Dark Lord himself had appeared just then. The white curtain around them rippled slightly as he braced one hand on the edge of her bed and put everything he had into that sweet, dreamlike kiss. It had been so long since he had been shown any sort of tenderness, and he drank it up now like honey, like delicate nectar. He couldn't stop.

...

In the middle of the night, Hermione felt someone touch her forehead. Madam Pomfrey checking on me, she thought. A moment later she felt pressure on her mouth, and realized it was another pair of lips. That's definitely not Madam Pomfrey. Severus? It was her dream again. Soon his arms would be around her and he would be whispering in her ear. You're here now, I'm not afraid, she thought. I'm safe. Severus? She said it out loud, her lips brushing his. "Severus?" Feeling warm and safe and comforted, she put her hand on his cheek, rough with the slightest bit of stubble, and leaned up into his kiss. She felt so… safe.

Finally he pulled away and stood. Hermione opened her eyes to see Severus Snape standing over her. His mouth was open, his eyes wide. He looked like he was trying to say something, but he didn't know what. In a second he was gone.

Hermione sat straight up in her bed, her blood full of adrenaline, her heart racing. Was that real? Was I dreaming? Am I still? She groped for the table she knew to be by her bed; it felt real enough. She pinched her arm, hard. That definitely felt real. How did he get in here? The door's locked. Madam Pomfrey wouldn't let anyone in this late. It's impossible to apparate in Hogwarts. What's going on?

As hard as she fought it, she was falling back asleep. Whatever Madam Pomfrey gave me was strong. She lay down. But… that was impossible. I didn't just kiss… She was asleep.

She woke Sunday morning to the sounds of Madam Pomfrey bustling around the hospital wing. Hermione sat up and pulled the curtain back. "Oh, you're up, dear. How are you feeling?" the nurse asked.

"Just fine," Hermione lied. Her cheek didn't hurt, but her mind was whirling. She was sure that what happened last night was real, but logically it couldn't have been. She didn't know what to think.

"I'm going to perform a charm on your wound," Madam Pomfrey explained as she brought out her wand. "If the sparks turn purple, you need to stay here today and let me work on the infection. If they stay white, you are free to go after I patch you up." The sparks that shot from her wand and circled around Hermione's cheek stayed white, so Madam Pomfrey performed another spell to seal up the skin and sent her on her way.

Hermione went to her dorm to shower and change, then down to the Great Hall for a light breakfast. She explained what had happened with the potion to Harry and Ron, who were sympathetic, then returned to her room. Once she got there she gathered up all her school books and papers, took them to the Head Girl's private rooms, and began to study.

She went from one subject to the next, not leaving a bit of time in between to think about… anything. She wouldn't let herself even think his name. She skipped lunch but made herself stop for a quick supper. Immediately afterwards she returned to her school work. When the grandfather clock in the corner chimed a quarter to eight, she sighed shakily, collected her things and went through the picture back to her dorm room. She put her robe on over her usual weekend outfit of a sweater and jeans and started down to the dungeons.

Professor Snape didn't call her in when she arrived in front of his door so she had to knock. She heard a crash, then he called, "Come in!" She opened the door and stood in shock. Four cauldrons stood over fires on the four back tables. Ingredients were scattered everywhere. Professor Snape had tied his hair back out of his face, something she had never seen in all her years at Hogwarts. Since it was uncomfortably hot in the classroom due to all the fires, he had removed his robe (another first) and was only in slacks and a white button-up shirt open at the neck with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

"Go… go ahead and start," he said without looking at her.

Astonished at the state of the classroom, Hermione shut the door behind her and walked to her usual desk at the front. There was an empty cauldron on it, but nothing else. The professor was apparently ignoring her, so she assumed she should get her own ingredients and tools for the potion. Shaking her head, she walked through the most bewildering scene she'd witnessed for quite a while to the ingredients cabinet at the side of the room and gathered what she would need for the evening.

...

Severus had returned from the hospital wing sweaty and shaking. He started to think about what had just happened, but thought the better of it. If he didn't think about it, it wouldn't be real. Normally he wasn't one to ignore and run away from his problems, but he'd never had a problem quite like this.

He decided the best thing to occupy his mind was, of course, potions. He began brewing one, but that wasn't keeping him busy enough. He started another, but soon was up to four at a time. He brewed potions to replace the ones that were almost depleted from his stores, potions he knew Madam Pomfrey wanted for the infirmary, even one he'd overheard Professor Sprout say she needed. When all those were done, he cleaned out every cauldron in the classroom, dusted every bottle on every shelf by hand and did inventory on the ingredients in the storage closet. It was nearly noon by that time and he collapsed at his desk. He was awoken three hours later by noisy students outside his door. Lacking the energy and motivation to yell at them, he instead got up and began brewing potions he'd forgotten he needed. By supper time he was feeling fatigued and extremely hungry, but he continued his busy work. When a knock sounded on the door just before eight o'clock, he jumped, overturning a tray of tools. "Come in!" he yelled, realizing it must be Miss Granger.

He saw her enter out of the corner of his eye; he couldn't look at her directly. "Go… go ahead and start," he managed to get out. He added an ingredient to one cauldron, turned down the flame on another, charmed a spoon to stir the third and strained the fourth. Once that was done he realized how he must look: long hair tied back with a piece of string, strands coming out and hanging in his face; his robe off and his shirt half unbuttoned; very unprofessional. He grabbed his robe from the back of his desk chair and went through the secret corridor from his office to his rooms. After changing into a fresh shirt (his old one was soaked in sweat) and untying his hair, he put his robe back on, buttoned it all the way up and returned to the classroom. He hoped she hadn't seen his Dark Mark when his shirt sleeves were rolled up.

When he arrived he noticed Miss Granger had removed her robe; it was still stiflingly hot. He waved his wand at the narrow windows near the ceiling and the glass disappeared and was replaced with metal screens. With another flick of his wrist a ceiling fan appeared and began to spin rapidly, whisking the old, stale air out through the windows. He quickly finished up one potion and after extinguishing its fire he noticed the room had cooled considerably.

Miss Granger was steadfastly working on the Purus Doleo and hadn't even looked up when he made the modifications to the classroom. Now they worked with their backs to each other, the silence only broken by the occasional clink of tools or bubbling of a potion. Before he knew it, the clock struck nine and Miss Granger was ladling her potion into bottles and labeling them. He turned from his spot at the rear of the room and saw her place them on his desk. He knew he had to say something to her, but didn't know what he possibly could say. To stall, he said, "Miss Granger, stay and help me finish these up." She set down her bag and came over to the table next to his. After he briefly explained what potion he was brewing and how far along he was, she started right in.

Rather than ask each other to pass an ingredient or instrument, they walked around and got it themselves. Not a word was spoken or a touch exchanged. They worked side by side for another half hour. Severus' remaining two cauldrons both had to simmer for an hour longer and Miss Granger was almost finished with hers. Severus went to the side of the room to wash his hands while she emptied her cauldron into three large jars. He left the sink just as she brought the cauldron over to scrub it out. Taking a seat at his desk, he waited for her to finish. What am I going to say to her? he wondered as he put the glass back in the windows and vanished the fan. Sorry, I know I'm supposed to hate you, but somehow I feel the need to snog you every time you're around? I apologize for interrupting your sleep last night? Why did you call me Severus? Let's run off to America and never look back? Stop it. Here she comes.

She slung her book bag over her shoulder and folded her robe over one arm, looking at the ground the whole time. After a moment she came and stood in front of his desk. "Sir?" she began, eyes on the floor. Suddenly she looked up into his face and their eyes locked. He could see dozens of questions flitting around in her mind, but finally she settled on one. "Did… did you apparate into the hospital wing last night?"

Thank Merlin she asked something I could actually answer. "Yes, I did."

"But that's not possible!" She sounded slightly hysterical at his confirmation and her eyes were moist.

"Obviously, Miss Granger, it is." The characteristic coldness was back in his voice. He was comfortable with his return to the role of condescending professor. He knew how to do that.

"But—"

"Miss Granger," he said, trying not to revel in the feel of her name on his lips, "quote for me the passage from Hogwarts, a History, concerning apparition on the grounds." Their eyes were still locked, glittering black with amber-flecked brown.

"'It is impossible to apparate to or from Hogwarts grounds'," she recited.

"Yes, that is correct. However, it says nothing of apparating within the grounds of the school." He paused and let the new knowledge sink in. All these years she thought she had been absolutely right. The revelation for a girl like her must come as quite a shock.

"I see." She shifted her bag and her eyes darted around the room almost frantically. Severus could see so many more questions swimming in her head, but all she said was, "I'll see you Tuesday night then." She turned to go and her hand was on the doorknob when Severus called after her.

"Hermione!" They were both shocked at the use of her first name. He'd never said it out loud before. "Well done on your potions."

He could see her profile from his seat at the desk. Without looking back she gave a small smile and said, "Thank you, sir." Then she left, closing the door quietly behind her.

...

So it really happened, Hermione thought. He admitted that he apparated into the infirmary last night—I still can't believe that all these years I never figured out one could apparate within school grounds!—so the rest of it must've happened as well. She wasn't sure how to feel about that just then, so she put it in the back of her mind to go over later, maybe in her journal.

It was nearly ten o'clock when she arrived in the Gryffindor common room. Harry and Ron knew well the preoccupied look on Hermione's face, so after a distracted "goodnight" they let her go up to bed unquestioned. Once she'd changed into her sleep shirt and crawled under the covers she lay stroking Crookshanks for quite a while, not thinking about anything in particular. At eleven she still wasn't asleep so she summoned her journal, quill and ink pot from the bottom drawer of her dresser. After some consideration, she decided this was a time for serious chocolate and summoned the block of Honeydukes finest dark chocolate to her as well.

Not one to beat around the bush, she began writing out the facts in her journal.

Last night during my potions work I sneezed and dropped the lionfish spine into the Purus Doleo potion. It splashed up and hit my cheek, making a painful gash. Professor Snape told me to sit down, then wet his handkerchief and wiped out my wound. He then examined it as I thought about his somewhat pleasing physical appearance. He brushed his thumb over the corner of my mouth very tenderly. Then Malfoy showed up. After Snape insulted me and kicked me out of his classroom (again) I went to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey made me stay overnight in case the gash was infected. Around midnight, Snape appeared by my bed. He touched (kissed?) my forehead. I thought he was Madam Pomfrey until he kissed my lips. Still half asleep I kissed him back. The same feeling of security I had in my dream about him came back. When we broke the kiss (I don't know whether I did it or he did) he stood over me, a horrified expression on his face. He looked as if he were about to say something, then vanished.

Tonight Professor Snape told me it is possible to apparate within the grounds of Hogwarts, which is what he did last night. On my way out of the Potions classroom after I finished my work, he called my name. "Hermione! Well done on your potions." I thanked him and left.

Now what?

She stopped writing and sat back against the headboard. When she reached for more chocolate she noticed over half the block was gone already! (It had made her feel a little better, though.) She wrapped it up and levitated it back into a drawer. She heard Lavender and Parvati come in and dimmed the light on the end of her wand. She wanted them to think she was asleep. When she heard them both breathing deeply, Hermione turned her mind back to "The Issue."

I don't know what to call what's happened (is happening?) between Professor Snape and me. It's more than just a student-teacher relationship, but certainly less than anything romantic. He's probably just as confused as I am. I'm sure he never expected to kiss a Gryffindor student. But I wonder what started it on his part? I began thinking of him as more than a cranky Potions Master the night he grabbed my arm so roughly… the first time he touched me, I think. Although it felt weird to think of him like that, it didn't hurt anything. I thought he was attractive… still do, I guess… But now I'm just confused. Nothing could happen between us… but do I even want anything to happen? Does he?

Obviously I'm not getting anywhere. I'll make a list. It's helped me before.

Having a Relationship with Prof. Snape (after I graduate)

Con

he is a former prof.

he is a Slytherin

ridicule from everyone I know

he is twice my age

he seems to hate me most of the time

he would be too hard to get along with

I don't know what I'll be doing after

graduation—distance issue

he hates my friends

Pro

we are both very intelligent

weapparently find each other attractive

I guess that settles it, then.

She snuck out of bed and put her journal and writing materials in the bottom drawer. After a moment's thought, she sealed the drawer magically; now it would only open to her. Then she got back under the covers and ordered herself to stop thinking about Professor Snape and go to sleep.

Monday passed. She didn't see Snape in the Great Hall at any meals; she wasn't sure if this was good or not. After supper on Tuesday she went to the Prefects' Lounge for a meeting. Her meeting with just the Head Boy, Ernie, was last Tuesday, so tonight it was with all the fifth- and sixth-year prefects as well.

She arrived a bit early, but almost everyone was already there. At precisely seven o'clock she called the meeting to order. "How is everyone this evening?" she asked.

The sixteen prefects sat around a circular table and all either nodded or muttered "fine." Next to her Ernie, who was nice but had always been a bit pompous, said "Very well, Hermione, how are you?"

"I'm doing all right." Except that my Potions professor snogged me Sunday night and I can't get it out of my head. Turning her attention to the others, she read off a list of announcements Dumbledore had given her that morning and then asked if anyone had anything to report.

"The chimney in our common room is blocked up," said a sixth-year Hufflepuff girl.

"All right," Hermione said, making a note of it on the pad of paper in front of her. "I shall inform Mr. Filch and he should take care of it soon. What else?" There was a long lull in which the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to get louder and louder. She became impatient. Why couldn't anyone just speak up and say what was on their mind? "If that's all, you are dismissed," she sighed. She stood and nodded to Ernie, then bustled out the door, wandering aimlessly down a mostly empty corridor.

The past two days had dragged by for Hermione. She hadn't seen Severus since they'd parted Sunday night, and he had been in her thoughts constantly. That kiss… Viktor had never kissed her like that, so tenderly and sweetly. He had always been well-meaning, but awkward. And awkward didn't begin to describe the kiss Ron had given her last year. Ugh.

But Severus… His mouth had been so gentle on hers, his lips just slightly parted, eyes closed, his cheek rough under her fingertips. She had relived that kiss a thousand times, conveniently forgetting the fact that it was her Potions professor who had given it to her. Amazing.

And it wasn't just that kiss. He had kissed her forehead too, she was almost sure of it. He had shown such gentleness, such care. To kiss her forehead, as if checking for a fever with his lips. And the way he braced one hand on the bed, his arm across her body, not touching, but very close as their mouths met. She remembered murmuring his name, then drawing him closer. And she had felt safe, content.

Hermione turned another corner and realized she was in an unfamiliar part of the castle. All the classrooms here were empty, and most of the doorknobs were covered in a thin layer of dust. This section hadn't been used for years. She peered through a window in one of the doors and saw only desks and chairs stacked at one end of the room, a cracked chalkboard at the other. The next room was much the same, and the next. Before she could look inside a fourth, someone appeared in the hallway ahead of her. Wondering if she had accidentally wandered into a forbidden area, she pressed herself against the wall, hoping the person would pass by without noticing her. But no, the figure turned down her corridor. There was nowhere to hide, so she decided to stride on as though she knew where she was going, hoping it wasn't a professor in case she did get in trouble.

Worse. It was Snape. "Miss Granger," he said after a moment of stunned silence. He stopped a few feet away from her, and she stopped as well. "I've been looking for you."

"You… you have?" His face had a strange expression – something between apprehension and anger, with a bit of confusion thrown in.

"Yes. May I speak to you for a moment?" He gestured to one of the empty classrooms on his left and she nodded. After using Alohomora on the lock, he held the door open for her, then followed her in. She watched as he placed a soundproof charm on the door, then he turned to face her. "Miss Granger…" he began, unsure. He was actually fidgeting with his wand, though when he saw her looking, he stuck it back in his robe pocket.

"Yes?" She clasped her hands in front of her, hoping not to fidget as well. Her heart was booming so loudly it nearly hurt her ears. Have I done something? she wondered. Does he want something of me? I hope he doesn't talk about Saturday night. Please don't let him talk about Saturday night.

...

"About Saturday night," he said softly, a slight frown on his face.

"My cheek is just fine," she interjected, a bit too eagerly, he thought.

"I can see that!" he snapped, but then his look turned penitent. "I'm sorry. I'm glad to see you have healed." How smooth her white cheek looked, how sparkling her eyes, how petal-like her lips. He hadn't been able to stop thinking of her for two days.

"If you hadn't helped to clean it, I might still be in the hospital wing," she said softly, eyes on the floor.

"Yes. Well. About that. I…" Merlin, this was harder than getting the peel off of a poisonous apple in one long strand. "I wanted to apologise for my actions. What I did in the infirmary was completely inappropriate and uncalled for. It should not have happened and I hope you can forgive me." He fell silent, wondering if she would explode about just how inappropriate it had been; or if she would tell him that it wasn't uncalled for at all, that she had liked it; or if she would kiss him again. He didn't know which reaction to hope for.

"Oh." She glanced up at his face, then back down to the floor. "Oh," she said again. "Well, yes. I accept your apology. I hope you can accept mine as well. My actions also were, um, inappropriate. I'm sorry."

He was both relieved and terribly disappointed. "Apology accepted." He looked out the small window in the door. "I, ah… should get back. To my classroom."

"Right," she said, looking up at last, but not directly at him. "I have my work tonight."

"Yes, you do." He took the soundproof charm off the door and moved to open the door. She stepped up beside him and rested her hand on the knob the same moment he touched it. Their fingers brushed together, and both jerked their hands back as if they had been burned. Severus paused for a moment, then put his hand on the doorknob more slowly, so she could see it. "After you," he said when he had pulled the door open.

She nodded silently and walked through. "See you in a bit," she said, not looking back. Her shoulders were hunched and her head hung.

"Yes," he said softly, but he didn't think she heard him. All the way back to the dungeons, he felt her fingertips on his.


	10. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

Hermione fought back tears as she trudged up to her dormitory room. It was five minutes to seven, and she knew she wouldn't make it to the Potions classroom on time, but most likely neither would Severus. Professor Snape! Not Severus! she berated herself. Honestly. One half-asleep kiss and you think you're in love with the man!

I'm not, am I? I can't be in love with Professor Snape. Severus Snape. Hm. Hermione Snape. Oh stop it! Stop it stop it! She yanked a brush through her hair, not even seeing her reflection in the mirror that hung on the wall in her room. "Not so hard, dear," it said to her. She rolled her eyes and put the brush back down, then went to change into jeans. She really should say something to the authorities about how very sexist it was to make all the girls wear skirts with their uniforms. A lot of private schools nowadays had the option of either skirts or trousers for the girls. Perhaps she would write a letter tomorrow, and research who she should send it to.

Her tie also came off, but she kept her sweater vest and robe on as she knew it would be cold in the dungeons. She felt quite hot, though, as she made her way down there. Her cheeks were flushed and she felt sweat along her hairline. Perhaps she would remove her robe once she arrived. Because she certainly wasn't nervous. The reason her hand slipped on the doorknob wasn't because her palms were sweaty, it had just been well-polished. Her heart leapt because she wanted to do well and earn the letter of recommendation from Professor Snape, not because she was anxious about seeing him.

She was several steps into the Potions classroom before she realized she had entered without knocking. Bullocks, she thought, and winced against the tirade she was sure to come.

It didn't. "Evening," Professor Snape said calmly from his desk. "I have a few things laid out for you already," he said, rising and gesturing to the student desk nearest his own where a cauldron and some of the more commonly used tools sat, "but I wasn't sure what you wanted to work on this evening. I'll leave it up to you to find the other necessary items."

"Wait," she said, taking a few steps toward him. "I get to choose what I want to work on?"

"Yes, that is what I said," he replied somewhat impatiently. She watched him sit back behind his desk, dark robes swirling with his graceful movements.

"Well…" She fidgeted with the strap of her bag. "What needs to be made?" She was having a hard time concentrating; he hadn't commented on how she had entered without permission, or how she was eight minutes late! What was going on?

He sighed dramatically and listed off a few potions he said Madam Pomfrey needed. "That should get you started, but when you come back on Friday evening, I want you to have an idea of what you'd like to brew." After that he would say no more, only looked down at the papers he was grading, the circles of red corrective ink like lip prints on a starched, white shirt collar.

Hermione watched his hands for a moment, the way they moved as he curved an S or boldly stroked the top of a T, but then realized she had to turn her attention to potion making. After setting her bag on a stool, she gathered some ingredients from the rear cupboard. She decided to make a cooling gel as she'd heard Hagrid was about to start the third years on salamanders. She had a feeling they would need it.

Her robe was discarded within minutes and the sleeves of her white blouse rolled up so she could work more easily. Amazingly, it seemed Professor Snape noticed she was too warm and conjured a fan to blow on her from the corner. "Thanks," she said softly, but he just nodded without looking up at her. Odd, she thought. Odd, but… nice. Even if he does regret kissing me, she felt her cheeks burn with blood just beneath her skin at the thought, at least he's being decent. It's more than I ever would have expected of him. She added crushed dried lacewings to the simmering cauldron, then let her mind wander as she stirred it, glancing at her watch every so often so she would know when two and a half minutes had passed. He said he shouldn't have kissed me, she thought, yet he's still being nice to me. Did he really mean it? Is he trying to throw me off again? Or did he just say he was sorry for kissing me, but really wishes he could do more? Do I want him to do more?

Hermione considered this for the umpteenth time that day. He's certainly not what anyone would call gorgeous, but he isn't bad looking either. I like his hands. His hair could be nice if he'd put some effort in. Skin, too. I like how he moves, so graceful, as if he owns all he sees. He can command it, too. He's very bold, almost… noble. So tall. And his lips… He's actually quite pleasant, or he can be. She dropped in shredded dragon scales and watched them float on top of the pale blue liquid in the cauldron. What would he say if I asked him how he felt about me? Do I even want to know? What if he says he despises me? It's not as though I'm unused to being despised by him, that's the way it's been the past seven years, almost. What can it hurt? At least I'll know. But what if he says he is attracted to me? What if he asks me the same question about him?

She strained the scales out of the cauldron and walked to the side of the room to dump them in the bin, mind racing. Okay. If he says he hates me, that's fine. I'm used to that. If he says he tolerates me, or something like I'm a good student, that's fine too. If he says he fancies me, or something of the sort… well, I'll tell him I sort of feel the same about him. Because I do. Right? The sieve was placed gently back on her desk. Her hand shook slightly. Right. I sort of fancy Professor Snape. Oh, Merlin, I fancy Professor Snape! What am I thinking?

Okay. Okay, I'm just going to ask him. She checked on the potion; it was fine for a few minutes. Here goes.

...

Severus watched Hermione – No, Miss Granger! – step up in front of his desk. Bloody hell, he thought, I'm not sure I can deal with this right now. "Sir?" she asked timidly.

"Yes?" He set his black quill down and folded his hands in front of him, then looked up at her, meeting her soft brown eyes. Her skin seemed to glow, and a pretty blush spread over her cheeks. Oh, Merlin, he moaned inwardly. Why does she have to be so beautiful?

"I… I was just wondering…" She clasped and unclasped her hands, then stuck them in her pockets. She swallowed, and he watched her delicate throat contract and relax. Was she trembling?

"Yes? Are you all right?" He couldn't help the hint of concern that crept into his voice. How could he not care about such a lovely creature?

"I wanted to ask you… What do you think of… of…" She faltered, letting her gaze drop to the surface of his desk. "Of me, I mean, my, potion?" Her eyes met his once more. "Was a cooling gel a good… good choice?"

"Certainly," he replied in what he hoped was a calm manner. "Hagrid has just started his third-years on salamanders. I'm sure it will be needed for the burns they are certain to sustain."

She gave a shy smile. "That's what I was thinking."

To his surprise, he smiled back. "Was there… anything else you wanted?" he asked as she turned back toward her desk. Me, perhaps?

"No, thank you," she murmured, not looking at him.

"Hermione," he called. She whipped her head around. Bugger! "Miss Granger." She seemed to relax a bit at that. Lovely. Now what?

"Professor?" Her hand was stretched out, about to grasp the corner of her desk, but it trembled in midair, waiting.

"Call me Severus." Where did that come from? "We are both adults, and I see no reason why we should not use one another's first name, ah, at least in a professional relationship, of sorts, as we have here."

Was that a smile that twitched at the corner of her mouth? "All right. If you'll call me Hermione."

"Very well… Hermione." Oh! Permission to say it out loud at last!

"Severus," she said with a smile and a nod. He nearly shivered. The last time she'd said his name, her lips had been brushing his. You can't think like that, he told himself sternly as she returned to her potion. You scared the poor girl half out of her wits doing that. She can't even speak coherently tonight around you. Yet… it seemed there was something in her eyes when she came to ask about the potion. As if that wasn't really the question she wanted to ask at all…

He forced his mind back to the quizzes he was grading, and they both worked silently for another half hour, until: "Severus?" He jumped at her voice.

"Yes?"

"Could you hold the funnel still while I pour this into vials to cool?" She was putting on protective mitts so she could handle the cauldron without getting burned.

"Why don't you just spell it to stay steady?" he answered automatically.

"Oh." She looked a little hurt. "I… I suppose I could do that, yes."

His heart lodged itself in his throat. You idiot! Would it kill you to be nice? "Actually, I'm nearly done here. I suppose I could assist you." He saw her put her wand back on the table and give a nervous smile to the floor as he rose and went to her. They made short work of measuring out the potion into small glass vials, and Severus helped her clean her tools and return the jars of ingredients to the cupboards.

"Thank you," she said when they were done. She put her robe back on as Severus flicked the fan out of existence, and she slung her bag over her shoulder. "I'll see you tomorrow."

As she started toward the door, Severus put his hand on her bare arm, just above her wrist. "Hermione." She froze and looked up at him. "Ah, good job tonight. As usual."

"You… you mean my potions haven't really been dismal?"

"Nothing you do is ever dismal," he said almost tenderly. How he wanted to move his hand up and cup her cheek, to kiss her so sweetly… She took half a step toward him, her lips slightly parted, light from the torches on the walls glimmering in her hair, bringing out the gold flecks in her eyes. He cleared his throat and stepped back, dropping his hand to his side. "See you in class."

"Yes," she said softly, letting her eyes linger on his face for a long moment before going out the door and shutting it carefully behind her.

Wednesday afternoon couldn't come quickly enough for Severus.

...

Something was definitely different about him, Hermione thought at breakfast the next morning. She'd hardly been able to stop thinking about him since last night. She shivered at the recollection of his hand on her arm, his body so close to hers… Though he had stepped back when she had come nearer. It seemed no use to even think about pursuing him. He didn't hate her, obviously, and wasn't totally indifferent to her either – they were now on a first name basis, in private, at least – but he just didn't seem interested in her like that. Besides, he was her professor. Nothing could ever happen.

Which was fine, of course. Hermione had had crushes on professors before. Crushes were harmless. They were a part of growing up, and let you know you were alive and well. She remembered, with some embarrassment, her first teacher crush: she was eight and absolutely adored her teacher, Mr. Tinsley. Alex Tinsley. He was in his mid-twenties and had a mass of curly blonde hair, like a halo. His eyes were robin's egg blue, and crinkled at the corners when he smiled, which was often. Hermione had been heartbroken when his young wife showed up on Valentine's Day with cupcakes for the class, though all was forgotten upon the sight of pink frosting with white sprinkles.

She wished things could be solved so easily now. As she toyed with her toast, Hermione imagined what the world would be like if everything could be resolved with sweets. A friend hurt your feelings, but made it up to you with biscuits. You were dumped, and your ex brought you chocolates. A war would call for an army of bakers to disperse all the bad feelings with sugar and butter and cream.

"Hermione?" said Harry's voice to her left. She was jolted out of her imaginings. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," she said.

"You've been saying that a lot lately. Are you sure there's nothing on your mind that's bothering you?"

Ron, oblivious, as usual, shoveled down his eggs across the table from her.

"I'm sure. Just schoolwork, that sort of thing."

"Not Snape again, is it?" Harry asked.

At this, Ron perked up. "Yes, how is the old bat? You've been spending an awful lot of time with him."

Somehow she was able to choke out, over the pounding of her heart and the blockage in her throat, "Well… It's not really my fault, you see. He keeps telling me I've… I've messed things up and makes me come back to, er, fix them." Her hands began to shake; she dropped her fork on her plate and clasped her hands in her lap.

"There there," Harry said, patting her shoulder and yawning hugely. "Perhaps you'll be lucky and he'll let you off early in the year with your letter."

"Hm," was all she said, finishing the last of her orange juice in one gulp. "Are you doing all right, Harry?" she asked softly when she had seen Ron turn to Seamus and strike up a conversation about – what else? – Quidditch.

"Yeah, I'm all right." He pushed his food around on his plate and Hermione noticed he had hardly eaten anything. "I'm just…" He paused, then leaned closer to her. "Don't say anything, but I'm… I've been having nightmares lately." His voice dropped even lower. "Bad ones."

"But Harry, that's terrible! Is it… Could it be Voldemort?" she whispered. The cheerful morning banter of the Great Hall seemed to fade around them. "It's happened before, you know, and – "

"No, this is different," he said, cutting her off. "These are… memories. I know they're real, even though I… I can't remember them in the daytime. If that makes sense." He looked down at the table, his eyes unseeing, face blank. "They're of the night my parents died."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said compassionately, her own problems forgotten as she turned her full attention to her best friend.

"Everything's so clear, so… stark," he continued in a hollow, faded voice. "But that's not all." He met her eyes briefly, then his gaze returned to the tabletop. "There are other dreams… nightmares. They're horrible. I watch the people I care for die – Ron, you, Dumbledore, Ginny, Hagrid – and I know, somehow that… that I caused it. Through betrayal, an accident… I don't know." Harry rested his head in his hands, one palm covering that famous scar.

"You don't think… they could be telling of future events, do you? Like the one you had last year about the door to the Department of Mysteries, or about the snake and Mr. Weasley?"

"No, they're not. I don't know how I know, but they're different, somehow. The feeling sort of reminds me of… This will sound odd, but the feeling you get when faced with a boggart. It's weird."

"That is weird," Hermione mused softly. "Do you think you should tell Dumbledore?"

"No. It could just be that I'm having a bad streak of nightmares. I don't want to trouble him with nothing."

"Hm. All right. I'll go to the library tonight after classes and see what I can find out. Perhaps Voldemort is sending you these dreams. Do you think?"

"It's a possibility." He looked and sounded so tired, she noticed suddenly. Hermione realized that she had hardly paid her friend any attention for days.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask about it sooner," she said gently, laying a hand on his arm. "I feel really bad for not even noticing anything was wrong."

He rested his hand on top of hers and met her eyes, his bright green meeting her soft brown. "It's all right. You've been busy, like you always are, and I – "

"That's no excuse. You're my best friend, Harry. I… I love you." She gave him a small, shy smile, which he returned. "You're like my brother."

"I love you too, Hermione," he said softly, looking a bit surprised at the words that came out of his mouth.

"Oy, Harry! What's that dive called, you know, that dive?" Ron asked loudly. Harry and Hermione broke their contact immediately and concentrated on their breakfasts. "That wos-is-name, the Seeker from the Falcons did at the cup this year?" He sighed heavily. "I wish we could've gone again, but there was no way Dad could get tickets and…"

Hermione tuned them out, as the conversation no longer held any interest for her. Her mind was already churning about what Harry had told her. She resolved to go to the library immediately after classes to research nightmares, any definite known causes, and any cures that could be administered. Perhaps she would even drop by for half an hour during lunch…

...

Severus had survived his Advanced Potions class Wednesday afternoon; he could say that much. The classes he'd taught earlier in the day had gone just fine. Everything was normal, or as normal as first-years ever were. The fourth-years after that had worked quietly and things had gone smoothly. But this class period…

To begin with, he'd dropped the chalk when writing notes on the board. The thin line of white had split right in the middle, leaving a bit of dust on the stone floor. Not bothering to repair it, Severus had picked up the pieces and continued on as usual, thankful that the seventh-year advanced class was mature enough not to make any comment.

If any other professor had dropped and broken their chalk, no one would have paid any heed. But Severus never dropped things. Ever. In his profession, if he dropped something, the results could be damaging, occasionally even fatal. If Severus Snape dropped something, especially in front of a class full of students, something was seriously wrong.

That something was sitting at the rear of the room, diligently taking notes, quiet as ever, yet absorbing every word he said, every ingredient he wrote on the chalkboard, every move he made. He felt her eyes on him more than ever today, and couldn't stop thinking about her. Even as he lectured, as he passed out worksheets, as he strolled the aisle between desks checking to make sure the potions were progressing well, somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought of Hermione danced like a snowflake on a crisp, starlit winter night. Her name on his lips, the feel of her arm beneath his hand, the memory of her mouth against his, the way her fingers moved, so gracefully, when she worked, when she wrote...

He jerked himself from his thoughts and realized he'd been standing at the back of the classroom, staring over Hermione's shoulder watching her copy down his notes from the board. He blinked several times and tore himself away from her hands, her neat printing and the smell of her hair and stalked up to his desk. "Ten minutes left," he said, whirling around to face the students, crossing his arms over his chest. "I suggest you finish your notes and begin cleaning up." Students began shuffling papers into their bags, cleaning their quills and taking their cauldrons to the side of the room to wash them out at the sinks. He followed Hermione with his eyes until his view was blocked by a Ravenclaw boy, then sat at his desk with his hands folded on top.

"Don't forget to label your potions," he called over the slight chaos of the last five minutes of class. "Miss Abbot! Five points from Hufflepuff. You are not dismissed until I say you are dismissed. Sit down." He glared at her and she sat, meekly, blinking back tears. Adolescent girls are so ruddy sensitive! he thought. Then he saw Hermione walk by and pat her comfortingly on the shoulder. Severus strained his ears and kept his eyes trained on her lips. He could barely make out what she said: "Don't worry, it's only five points. You can make it up in Herbology tomorrow, right?" Miss Abbot sniffed and nodded, flashing a weak smile at Hermione as she returned to her own desk.

Is there nothing she can't do? Severus wondered, toying with a quill pen on his desk, running his short fingernails along the spine of the feather, knitting the edges back together. Top marks in all her classes, Head Girl, a Prefect the two years before that, numerous adventures with Potter and Weasley, the names left a sour taste in his mouth even though he hadn't said them out loud, and who knows what else? Comforting, I suppose, and being a good friend. My exact opposite. Well... not exactly my opposite. I earned high marks in school as well. I had a few adventures when I was her age, though I did nothing heroic.

And look at her. He couldn't keep from looking at her for very long, and now he gave her a lingering glance which she didn't catch as she was fumbling in her bag for something. Beautiful. Graceful. Talented at whatever she turns her hand to. I love how she – but he stopped. Love? Had he thought "love" in connection with Hermione Granger? Surely not. Surely not about a student. But… did he, really… love her? No, he thought, firmly. Not love. I barely know her. But perhaps… Oh, bloody hell! I think I'm beginning to fall in love with her!

The clock on the far wall clicked into place – 2:30. "Dismissed," he said, not looking up at the scraping of stools and banging of books being shut. The door opened to the corridor outside and the sound of dozens of students either on their way to another afternoon class, or those happier sounds of students who were free for the rest of the day, drifted into the classroom. At last the noise died down and the door clicked shut. He sighed heavily, grateful that he was finished teaching for the day. As he rose, however, he glimpsed someone at the far end of the room. It was her! He sat down again, and tried to appear composed.

She walked down the aisle toward him. "Professor – Severus? Sir?" she asked uncertainly.

"Severus is fine, Hermione," he said softly, "as long as we're alone." As long as we're alone. It sent a tremor through his body.

"All right," she whispered, stopping a foot in front of his desk. Her books were clutched to her chest, her bag hanging heavily on her shoulder. "Sir, I mean, Severus, do you remember… when I made the Sweet Dreams Syrup for one of my, er… detentions?"

His heart leapt to his throat. He could barely speak. "Yes." Oh good Merlin. She couldn't know about that, could she? There was no way! She couldn't know that he had…

"I… was wondering if you still had any. You see, I… I've been having nightmares, lately, and the bit of research I did at lunch said that the Syrup could be used occasionally to give some relief to a person suffering from bad dreams."

"That is indeed its intended purpose," he replied.

"Could I get some from you, or do I need to go to Madam Pomfrey?"

"I really don't think that is a good idea, Miss – Hermione." He laced his fingers together and rested his elbows on the arms of his chair. This would take some getting used to, and he would have to be careful not to call her by her first name in class.

"Why… why not?" She met his eyes and he nearly jumped at the shock of it. She looked so earnest, her chocolate eyes so warm they could just melt into his.

"I…" What was he supposed to tell her? I dreamt about sleeping with you the last time I took it? "One simply must be very careful to take the correct dosage. Too little produces no effect," Oh, if only that had been what happened to me instead of what did happen, "and too much can have, ah, adverse effects."

"I understand Sir, Severus." Each time she made the mistake, she dropped her gaze to the floor, though if she was embarrassed of calling him by his first name or simply by the mistake itself, Severus couldn't tell. "I'll be very careful."

He wanted very much to ask what she had been dreaming about, but knew that was too personal of a question. He wouldn't like it, he knew, if she asked him about his nightmares. Not that he would ever share those with anyone. They'd been bad, lately. He'd been having two or three a night and was unable to get more than three hours of sleep at a time, no more than four or five hours a night total, for weeks.

"All right," he relented. "I still have some in my rooms. If you'll follow me." He stood and walked to the door, looking over his shoulder at her. "Coming, Hermione?"

...

"Coming, Hermione?" His words echoed in her mind. His rooms, she was going to see his rooms? As a Gryffindor, she didn't even know where they were located.

"Ah, right." Somehow she unfroze her feet and they carried her to the door. He was holding it open for her! Like she was… a lady. "Thank you," she said softly, slightly awed. After closing and locking the door behind them, Severus led her a short way down the hall to a door past the Potions classroom. She'd never noticed it before, but she'd never had any reason to venture further than the classroom when she'd been in the dungeons. He tapped the doorknob and muttered a few words, taking the wards off, then opened it and stepped through. She stood dumbly in the corridor, not having been invited in. It wouldn't have been proper, anyway, a female student in the private rooms of a male professor.

Through the door, which he had left open a couple of feet, Hermione could see rows and rows of books on shelves all around the room. There were a few free-standing cabinets that held potions and his personal supply of ingredients, and it was at one of these he stood, removing a vial from a middle shelf. To the right of the door were two armchairs facing a fireplace, a coffee table in between them. There was a door to the left of the fireplace, which she assumed led to his bedroom, and straight ahead was his desk, neat stacks of papers and books piled carefully on top.

"There you are," Severus said, appearing rather suddenly in front of her. In one hand was a vial of purple syrup, which he gave to her. In his other hand he held a measuring spoon. "Take this, also. I've made a replica and given you the copy, so I shan't go without," he said before she could protest. "Make sure not to take a drop more than will fill the spoon."

"All right," she said softly, taking it from him and putting the vial and spoon in a side pocket of her bag. His fingertips were soft against hers as their hands brushed and she felt his eyes on her for a long moment before she looked up again. "Thank you very much, Severus," she said, looking into his eyes.

"You're welcome. I'd like the vial back, when you're through."

"Of course."

"You know the effects? The instructions?"

"'Sleep will take the drinker of the potion moments after it is imbibed,'" she recited. "'In those few moments, the drinker should concentrate on something he or she finds pleasant, and once REM sleep begins, he or she will start having sweet dreams about that subject.'" She still held his gaze. His eyes looked so gentle, so… tender. Merlin, could he really care for her?

"Hermione? Would you like to come in for a bit?" he asked quickly, as though thinking too much might ruin the invitation.

Her eyes widened for an instant as her heart tried to leap out of her ribcage. Come into his private rooms? What? Why? The questions were on the tip of her tongue but she didn't want to be rude; instead she said, "Oh… Well, thank you, but I, um, have Advanced Herbology in a few minutes. I, er, need to… get going." She would have loved the chance to explore his bookshelves, to sit and talk with him in one of the cozy-looking green armchairs by the fire, ask him everything she'd ever wanted to know about Potions… But she was afraid of what she would do if she was left alone with him in such an intimate setting. She might do something stupid like ask him to kiss her again, or touch him tenderly on the knee, or hold eye contact for a few seconds too long. She didn't entirely trust herself, and that scared her more than anything.

"Oh. I see." He actually looked rather crestfallen. "Well, go on to class then." His voice had taken on a hard edge and his eyes had grown cold once more.

"Yes, sir. Severus. Thank you for the potion." She turned and hurried down the corridor, her footsteps echoing off the cold stone walls. Hermione realized that she missed him already.

...

Stupid! Why a girl like her would ever want to come to your rooms, would ever want to give you any more mind than a… a cockroach! Of course she wouldn't. You're just the greasy old bat of a Potions Master, no one likes you. No one has, not for years and years, and you don't even deserve it. You didn't deserve that look in her eyes when you touched her arm last night, or the way her lips trembled just now when you said her name. You don't deserve anyone to look at you like that, you never have and you never will. You disgusting old man, how horrible to even think of entertaining the thought that a girl like Hermione Granger could love you! No, best to stay in your dungeons, amongst the rats and the insects, the places where cold water drips and stone ceilings sag, a place formerly used for torture. It's no more than you deserve. Torture. The well-deserved torture of a Death Eater, a spy, a murderer. Best to be ignored, shunned, thought badly of. Best to remain tormented with the thought of those rosy cheeks, those petal lips, that long pale throat, that gorgeous mass of tangled brown hair, those sparkling coffee eyes, those small, graceful hands, that little waist that will never accept your arm around it. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

...

Somehow Hermione had succeeded in keeping thoughts of Severus at bay for the remainder of the afternoon. She paged through some books she'd checked out of the library at lunch time as she ate supper, finding various spell and potions that could be used to counteract nightmares. There was very little on what actually caused them, but she wouldn't give up so easily.

After supper she compiled a list of the various ways to combat bad dreams. She would take it and the vial of Sweet Dreams Syrup and spoon to Harry soon. But… it couldn't hurt to try a little of the syrup herself, could it? Hermione rarely dreamed, and what she did dream usually made very little sense. It would be interesting to see what her mind, when affected by the potion, would come up with. Before she could change her mind, she transfigured a quill on her bedside table into a small white jar no taller than her finger was long, measured out a spoonful of the potion, and poured the purple syrup into it.

A few minutes later she was in the common room and managed to get Harry alone by replacing his spot across the chessboard from Ron with Neville (who looked rather nervous, but sat nonetheless). She led him to a quiet corner and took the vial and spoon from her robe pocket. "I got this from Madam Pomfrey earlier," she said. Hermione didn't think it wise to tell Harry it had come from Snape; there was no way he would take anything the Potions Master had brewed, just as Severus would never have given her the potion if he'd known it was for Harry. "It's Sweet Dreams Syrup. Do you know what that is?"

"Not really, but I can guess. It gives you good dreams, right?"

"Exactly. Take a spoonful of this just before you go to bed. Concentrate on something you want to have pleasant dreams about as you take it, and keep thinking about that thing until you fall asleep. It should just take a minute, so don't drink it until you're in bed, okay?" He nodded and put the things in his pocket. "Make sure not to take more or less than a spoonful. There are about four doses in there." She felt guilty, for a moment, about taking one of the doses for herself, as Harry certainly needed it more than she did, but it was too late to do anything now. "It should help you get at least a few good nights of sleep."

"Thanks Hermione, I owe you one," he said sincerely, resting a hand on her shoulder.

"No problem." She took out the list and handed it to him. "Oh, here are a few other ways to deal with nightmares. I listed the exact effects of each of them, what they are, all that. Look them over tonight and tell me if anything appeals to you. The spells should be no trouble to perform, once I find out how. The potions will be a little harder to get, but we'll figure something out."

"All right, sounds good." He glanced over his shoulder to find Ron beating the stuffing out of Neville at chess. "I'd better go and rescue him," he said with a lopsided smile.

"Indeed," she smiled back. Harry stuck the paper in his pocket as well, and they passed the remainder of the evening playing chess and talking. This is nice, Hermione thought. I've missed this.

When she was in bed at last, Crookshanks on the pillow next to her, her legs bare beneath her "Mind the Gap" t-shirt, Hermione reached through the curtain to pluck the small white jar from her bedside table. What do I want to dream about? she wondered. Her mind immediately leapt to the answer: Severus.

She sighed heavily in spite of the fact that there was no one around to hear her save Crookshanks. He mewed sympathetically, then rolled onto his back and fell asleep, snoring gently. "You're a lot of help," she said, poking him in the stomach. He twitched, flicked his tail, and resumed snoring.

Hermione examined the little jar. The syrup within glinted tantalizingly with the light from her wand. Dreaming about him won't help anything, she thought. If anything, it'll make it worse. Already I can't stop thinking about him. What is there to gain if he shows up in my dreams? Nothing. This is ridiculous. A stupid infatuation that can never be acted on for a variety of reasons. Drinking this will only make it worse.

Decisively, she spelled a lid onto the jar and returned it to her nightstand. Her roommates would think it some sort of cosmetic potion; they wouldn't even know a simple sleeping draught if it bit them on the nose! Well, that's that, she thought.

It took her a long time to fall asleep.


	11. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Severus woke at three in the morning, blinking hard, trying to erase the images burned into his mind. This time there had been a forest, a young woman, a chase, torture. She had been a Ministry informant to Lord Voldemort, but had gotten scared and tried to go into hiding. They found her anyway, and…

Shivering, he got out of bed, pulled on his robe and went into the other room, building up the fire with a flick of his wand, though he knew it couldn't reach the chill that haunted him. Invariably, his thoughts turned to Hermione. No, he protested, you can't think about that. About her. But he did anyway.

She seems to like me, he thought. She seems to enjoy her time in the classroom, working late at night, just the two of us. I haven't had a student like her since Alexander Dolohov… what was it, eight, nine years ago? Though I didn't want to snog him. Stop it! Oh, what does it matter what I think? No one will know.

Merlin, I wish I could show her what I feel for her. I'm falling deeper every day. No, more like digging myself deeper into a pit. A pit with no handholds, no light, no hope. A thought struck him and he got the elven journal from the bottom drawer of his desk. It had helped him before; why should right now be any different, even if the thing only "spoke" in riddles.

All I can think about is Hermione Granger, he wrote. While I'm teaching, while I'm eating, while I'm assigning detentions, while I'm walking the corridors late at night. Hermione Granger. Hermione… Gods, this is torture! If there were only some way to know for sure how she felt about me! She doesn't seem to despise me, at least. And there's a look in her eyes, sometimes, a sort of tender, melting look. But then it vanishes at the slightest provocation; the clearing of my throat, the shifting of my feet. I don't understand!

Frustrated, he threw the quill down, spattering ink on the gleaming wooden surface of his desk. He sighed and vanished the mess, then leaned back pinching the bridge of his nose. There was a sound like a length of tape being peeled slowly from a piece of wood. When he looked at the journal, he was astonished to find that words were appearing, slowly, a letter at a time. The ink was silver, but the printing was familiar, the rounded letters, short ascenders and long descenders.

I had a weird dream last night, it said.

Severus' eyes grew wider with each following sentence. She dreamt about me? About us? Doing that? Merlin! He continued on.

Obviously this comes from thinking about Professor Snape before I fell asleep yesterday night. I let my mind wander and it went a little too far.

What on earth did that mean, she let her mind wander too far? Surely she hadn't imagined… No. No, she wouldn't do that. Would she? He turned scarlet at the next part. She had plea – no, he wouldn't think it. He felt awful, like he was digging through her mind, dirtying her, but he couldn't stop!

He did feel so good though. Too bad he's so much older than me, sheconcluded. He waited another minute, but no more letters appeared in the journal. Severus sat back again. He knew what he was going to do. He had to see if she still felt the same, if she fancied him at all. He had to know.

...

On the way to breakfast Thursday morning Hermione hung back, catching Harry's eye so he would know to fall back with her. They walked at the rear of the group of Gryffindors heading down toward the Great Hall, and when she thought no one was paying them any attention, she asked, "How did it work?"

"Great," Harry said with a smile. "I thought about all the pictures I'd seen of my parents and their friends, and I guess my brain made up this whole story about how we all went on a picnic together, and went swimming in a lake and camped out at night…" He seemed in another world. "It was great."

Instead of smiling, as she was sure he expected, Hermione frowned. "Harry, be really careful with this. I've read it can be extremely addictive. Maybe next time, think about… Quidditch, or something. I'm not sure it's… healthy to have such dreams about your parents. I know you really miss them, but – "

"I'm fine," he said angrily, mood switching in an instant. "I can take care of it. I know they're just dreams, okay? Leave me alone about it. I appreciate you getting the potion for me, but I can handle it." He walked ahead of her, catching up with Ron and Dean, joining eagerly in their discussion about Hagrid's latest Magical Creatures lesson.

That's what you said about the Mirror of Erised, Hermione thought sadly.

Ancient Runes after breakfast dragged by, and she was glad for her free period before lunch. She returned to the library to try and find more about nightmares, and for nearly an hour she sat in peace, paging through huge texts and tiny books alike, content to be doing something she loved: research. As she reached for Maladies and Their Magical Cures, a piece of parchment fluttered into her view, stopping just in front of her face. It was folded into a neat square, her name written on the front in familiar spidery writing. Severus! Her heart leapt into her throat and her fingers shook slightly as she caught and unfolded it.

Miss Granger,

Please come to my office at eight o'clock tonight. I have something I wish to discuss with you concerning your work for me and your letter of recommendation.

-Professor Severus Snape, Potions Master, Hogwarts

It was so formal! He'd called her Miss Granger; already she'd gotten used to hearing Hermione from him. Perhaps he was this formal in all his correspondence. Yes, that had to be it. Nonetheless, she blinked back tears at his cold words and was not a little nervous about what he had to say to her. Was he going to refuse to write the letter? Was he going to make her work more nights to earn it? Was she going to get yelled at for her appalling behaviour toward him the last few days?

What appalling behaviour? She ran through their meetings in her mind. Had she done anything inappropriate? All she could remember was stepping closer to him the other night when he'd laid his hand on her arm. She could still feel it if she concentrated. Though that was a lack of control on her part, she didn't think she would get reprimanded for it. On the whole, she thought she'd been hiding her feelings quite well.

Now she was to be alone in his office with him, though. Would she be able to keep things under control? How she longed to touch him, how she longed to feel him touch her! Anything, just a hand pressed to his cheek, her shoulder against his, anything. This is pathetic, she thought. Snap out of it. Concentrate.

It worked, miraculously. For the rest of the day she wouldn't allow her mind to stray to thoughts of Severus. She focused on the books she'd checked out from the library, on her Charms homework, on her Transfiguration practice. Anything but Severus. Until the clock in the common room struck 7:45. Her heart began a tap-dance routine and her breath came in gasps. Oh, Merlin. I have to go down there now. No matter what he says or does, I will stay calm. I will be in control of my emotions and, more importantly, my reactions. I will be strong. I will not think about snogging him. Augh! Stop it!

She was already in the muggle clothes she wore outside of classes and didn't bother changing to go down to the dungeons. Hoping she wouldn't meet any unpleasant Slytherins on the way (as if there was another kind), Hermione went through the portrait hole and down the many flights of stairs to Severus Snape's office.

...

He knew what he would say, what he would do. He'd been over it dozens of times in his mind, had even practiced it out loud a couple of times in his room, though quietly. Every word was memorized. So why was he nervous? Perhaps because he knew the instant he saw her, everything he'd rehearsed would fly out of his mind, every coherent thought would abandon him? He hated that she did this to him. No other person in the world had ever made him lose his hard, cool façade. Ever.

Merlin, almost time. It was three minutes to eight and, as she was always perfectly on time, he sat back in his desk chair to wait, his eyes flicking to the clock every few seconds. Exactly two minutes and thirty-eight seconds later, he heard the door to the classroom open and close and knew the soundproof spell he'd put on it had activated the moment the latch clicked back into place. Good. Now slow footsteps across the classroom, now a knock at his office door. "Enter," he called, thankfully in a normal, strong voice. She came in almost timidly, her expression tense, her hands fidgeting, and shut the door behind her, activating another soundproof charm, just to be on the safe side. "Hermione." He stood and swallowed nervously, wiping his sweating hands on his robes and hoping she didn't notice.

She dreamt about you, he told himself. She feels safe with you. She knows that you were a spy and she doesn't care. She thought about you. She's been thinking about you, she's got to have been. Relax. Calm down. Now just say it. "Hermione," he repeated, his voice just above a whisper. He had to know for sure. The clock struck eight and he paused for an agonizing fifteen seconds, waiting for it to stop, then he continued on in the same quiet tone as he walked slowly toward her, adrenaline shooting through him, making him jumpy. "I am going to do something, but I'm going to do it very slowly so that you may stop me at any time." He paused. What were his next words? His eyes were frantic for a moment, darting all over her worried face. Ah, yes. "I hope you don't stop me, but if you do… if you do… we can forget all about it and everything will be… fine." There, he'd said it. Now to continue. Another step, another, until he was just a couple of feet from her. "I think I may love you," he whispered. That wasn't in the script, but seeing her there, so close, forced it out of him. There was no reaction; just her wide eyes, her slightly open mouth, her hands clenched at her sides.

And then, very slowly, so she could stop him if she felt scared, uncomfortable or horrified, he leaned toward her, putting one hand on her shoulder, the other on her cheek. He took one last step toward her, bringing their bodies inches apart, and lowered his head to hers. His eyes were wide open, as were hers; the flecks of gold in them stood out brilliantly and he got lost in them, so lost that the contact of their lips startled him when it happened. He pressed his barely open mouth against hers, not breathing, not moving at all, as if he were merely resting there. She didn't move either, and it began to worry him. Then, at last, a flicker. Her eyes fluttered closed and her hand reached up to rest on his elbow. This slightest voluntary contact sent a jolt of lightning through his body and he closed his eyes as well, reveling in the feeling of her cheek beneath his fingers, his lips touching hers at last. Oh, Merlin, it was better than he had imagined, it was perfect, it was heaven, he was flying in perfect silence, unable to feel his feet on the cold stones or the tenseness between his shoulders as he hunched over. Just her lips, just her hand, just her cheek. She wasn't drawing away, she wasn't shouting, wasn't cringing at this contact. Perfect. Her lips… perfect.

...

Oh gods. He's kissing me. He's kissing me, he's kissing me! she thought frantically, though she didn't move an inch. I should do something, I have to respond, have to do something back. She raised her right hand, unsure. His shoulder? Can't reach. His hip? Too personal. She settled for resting her palm against his elbow. Suddenly it hit her. Severus Snape is kissing me. This is what I've been wanting. She closed her eyes slowly and leaned into him, just slightly. There was a strange feeling deep within her, and after a moment she realized it was because she had forgotten to breathe. Oh no. Breathe? How? Through my nose, I guess. She expelled the breath she'd been holding, then inhaled. Surely this couldn't be it! This couldn't be all there was!

She shifted her weight, causing her chest to brush against him. Electricity shot through her and she shuddered, pressing her mouth harder against his lips. He responded eagerly, drawing her closer. Their bodies were pressed together now and she was aware of every square inch of him. Merlin, he was so tall! Stronger than she would have thought, and warm. Her hands were on his waist now. When did that happen? No matter. His fingers were in her hair and she felt the very tip of his tongue touch hers. Oh, Merlin. Viktor Krum had never kissed her like this, so frantically, so… No, you idiot! Why are you thinking of him right now? Shoving all thoughts of Viktor to the very back of her mind, she focused again on Severus. Severus Snape. Her Potions professor.

"No," she said against his mouth. He stepped back immediately, severing all contact between them. "What's the matter?" he asked breathlessly. She realized he was shaking.

"We can't do this," she replied, eyes wide, hands trembling at her sides.

"I know." He rested his fingertips to the top of his desk for support.

"But…" She took a step backwards, wrapping her arms around herself. She felt so cold, suddenly.

"I know." He looked at the floor, then back to her eyes. "Hermione. You didn't… didn't stop me."

"Yes." She nodded, then shook her head. "We can't do this," she repeated. He took a step toward her and she tensed. He stopped.

"You don't know what this means to me," he said, his voice shaky. She had to strain to hear him, though he was only a few feet away.

"I'm sorry. I mean. You're welcome. I mean… Oh, God!" She returned to a muggle profanity in the face of such confusion. "We can't do this!"

"I know, I know," he said, and then he was with her again, inches from her, his black eyes soft, gazing deeply into hers. "We can't. We shouldn't. But…" He stroked her cheek with the back of two fingers. "Merlin, Hermione. You have no idea." Such pain in his dark eyes.

She didn't move, letting his fingers run down the side of her face, wanting to fall into his arms and cry with frustration, confusion, hurt… This wasn't in a book; she couldn't look up "student/teacher relationships" in the library, take a few pages of notes, and come to some easy conclusion. This was real life, and real life hurt, and was hard, and pounced upon you without mercy, tearing your life to shreds with razor claws and bloody fangs. "What do we do? What can we do?" she asked, eyes full of tears.

"Nothing. We can do nothing. I would lose my job, you would be expelled. There is nothing we can do."

"But… That's not good enough." Her strength was returning. She began to pace the small room, still hugging herself. Severus stayed perfectly still, following her with his eyes. "It's obvious that you have feelings for me," she said, keeping her gaze on the floor, "as I have… have feelings for you." There, it was out, it was really out. "We just have to suffer? Do nothing?"

"I'm afraid so."

"Then why? Why did you kiss me when you knew nothing more could be done about it?"

"I had to know," he said softly, but she didn't seem to hear him.

Her face was flushed and she paced faster, making herself dizzy. "We can't do anything, anything at all and you… and you…" She had to stop and hold onto the back of chair that faced his desk to steady herself.

"Hermione!" He was at her side in an instant, one hand on the small of her back, the other closing over her fingers where they rested on the chair. "Are you all right?"

"No, I'm not bloody all right!" she shouted, standing up and looking him in the eyes. "I think I love you too! I am not all right!" He took a step back, surprised, but she pursued him. "Once more," she said softly, wrapping her arms around his waist and stretching up to meet his lips. "Once more and I can never touch you again, never kiss you again." And she touched her lips to his, squinting her eyes shut, loosing herself in that kiss.

...

He gave her all he had, would have given her his soul, his life, had she but asked. Her palms were cold on his back, even through his robe, and he ran his fingers through her hair, their tongues exploring gently, mouths pressed together, eyes closed tight. Severus didn't want it to ever end, so he put his hands on the back of her head, willing her to stay here in his arms, her small breasts against him, her cool hands on his back, forever. Ah…

Of course it had to end sometime. When they could both barely breathe, they pulled away at exactly the same moment, panting. His hands were still in her hair, hers on his waist. They didn't move for a very long time, just looked into each others' eyes and gasped for breath as if they'd run a long distance. At last she stepped away. "Goodbye, Severus," she whispered through the tears that were already running down her face.

"Hermione, no, wait!" he called as she pulled open the door and strode through the classroom. "Please, you can't just go like this." He was a different man, one who would chase after a woman, pleading with her not to leave. She stopped, but did not turn. "You can't just go, please," he whispered. "You don't know what it's been like, these past weeks. I've thought of nothing but you. I'm awake at odd hours thinking of you, of how smart you are, how beautiful, how everything you do is perfect." She sniffed, loudly, and put a hand to her mouth, but still did not turn. "When the nightmares wake me early in the morning, I sit and I – "

"Wait, you're having nightmares too?" she turned to look at him, a serious expression on her face.

"Yes about… about the Death Eaters, and…" He fully intended to tell her everything, but she interrupted him again.

"And Lord Voldemort?"

"Yes, Hermione," he said, surprised that she would call him by name, "but I don't see what that has to do with anything. I know you've been having nightmares too, but believe me, these – "

"That's it!" she shouted, tears forgotten. He could practically hear the wheels turning inside her head. "It's got to be… Yes, that's it, that's it!"

"What? What are you talking about?" He felt helpless, lost. He had no idea what she meant.

"I have to go and check something, I'll see you tomorrow for my work," she said as she hurried out into the corridor, leaving the door open behind her.

"Wait!" he called weakly, but even if she could hear him, he knew he would be ignored. She never ceased to amaze him.

...

Hermione tapped on the door to the Potions classroom Friday evening with the toe of her shoe, as her arms were laden with books. Please hurry, she thought. Her fingers were aching with the weight of them all, since she'd carried them from her dorm room about seven flights up. Thankfully the door opened a moment later, Severus' dark figure behind it. She hurried in and set the stack on the nearest desk, the books making a loud thump as they hit. The one on top fell off onto the floor and she picked it up excitedly. "Look, look," she said, gesturing him closer. "I've got it all figured out. Ah, sort of."

The puzzled look on Severus' face went unnoticed as she hadn't looked up at him yet. Hermione opened the book on top to a page she had marked with a scrap of paper, searched through the stack, and (with the help of a levitating spell for the ones on top) extracted another book near the middle. It too was opened to a marked page, and she set them out next to each other, shoving the stack to the side of the desk. "I'd been looking at completely the wrong books!" she said, oblivious to his confusion. "Not nightmares, but dark creatures. I don't know why I didn't think of it before."

"Hermione," he said softly, "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about."

"I know." She pulled a stool from under the desk and sat. "Please," she said, gesturing for him to do the same. "You said last night that you'd…" she trailed off for a second, remembering the kisses. Focus! "You'd been having nightmares, correct?"

"Yes," he said shortly, almost defensively. "Have you as well?"

"No, not me, Harry." Shoot. I didn't mean to say it like that. Should've eased into it. Too late now.

"What? You mean the Sweet Dreams Syrup was for Potter?" he exploded.

"Um, yeah, kind of," she said in a small voice. "I knew you wouldn't have given it to me if I'd said it was for Harry."

"You're damn right I wouldn't have!"

"Oh, but this was different, right, since you wanted to snog me?" Her eyes narrowed and she crossed her arms.

"That. Is not. The issue," he said. His face seemed to grow paler, almost glowing with anger, but she wouldn't back down.

"He needed a reprieve! He hasn't been getting enough sleep and I was worried about him! He's my friend, I care for him."

"You deceived me." His eyes were glittering obsidian, his expression stony, unmoving.

"I had to." Her tone grew softer. She wanted to touch his arm, but knew she couldn't allow herself to do that, lest it turn into more than just a simple touch. "Severus, please understand –"

"Professor Snape," he ordered, eyes still cold.

"Oh, don't give me that," she said sternly. "Just because I pissed you off is no reason to take it all back now."

He blinked, obviously unused to being spoken to like that. "Miss Granger – " he began.

"No, Hermione. Nothing has changed. Look, I know this is a little weird, but – "

"A little weird? My whole life is – "

"Oh calm down! Now, we can sit here arguing and interrupting each other, or you can be quiet and listen to what I actually came down here to say." She glared up at him, noting the wideness of his eyes, the confusion on his lips, and turned to the books. "Right. Now. I talked to Harry last night and he told me about his nightmares." She didn't want to reveal too much to Severus, as Harry's dreams were rather personal, but she did tell him the basics. "He said they were about the night his parents were killed. There's really no way he could remember that night, since he was just a baby, but he dreams it nonetheless, and it's very vivid and real. Sound familiar?"

"Dementors," Severus said, puzzled.

"Right." She pointed to a page in the book on the left. There were a few paragraphs describing dementors, and a moving picture of one of the creatures, ragged black robes blowing in a non-existent wind. They both shivered and looked away. "But, here's the interesting thing: he also said he'd dreamt about… well, about the people he loves dying. Often the same night as the other nightmares."

"That sounds like a normal nightmare to me."

"I don't think so." She pointed to the other book, open to a page on boggarts.

"What are you saying? Dementors and boggarts are attacking The Boy Who Lived in his sleep?"

"No. Well, maybe. I'm not sure. That's why I brought all this," she swept her hand over the pile of books, "and this." She pulled a stack of notes in her own handwriting from her bag.

"What does it have to do with me?"

"Your nightmares, you said, were about your days as a Death Eater and a spy – don't look so alarmed, it wasn't that hard to figure out – and about Lord Voldemort." She rolled her eyes at his reaction. "It doesn't hurt anything to say his name. Am I right?"

He nodded. "Yes…" he said uncertainly.

"No one else, as far as I know, had been having nightmares like these. And you and Harry would be having them because…" She paused to let him fill the rest of it in.

"Because we're both connected to the Dark Lord."

"Right. Harry because of his scar, and you because of your Dark Mark." Her eyes flickered to his left forearm and he covered it protectively, even though it was hidden beneath the sleeve of his robe.

"So you're saying that… that he's sending us these nightmares on purpose? Because we're connected to him? How?"

"That's what we're going to figure out," she said, pulling another book from the stack and handing it to him.

...

The next three hours were spent in relative silence, the two of them only speaking to ask questions, request a book or stack of papers, or say "Excuse me" and blush if their elbows bumped, as they were still sitting close together at the same desk. They had, however, pulled three more desks closer and were now sitting in the middle of a square formed by the tables, hemmed in by books and parchments and quills. It was a mess. It was wonderful. Severus loved research, and it was made even better by the fact that he was doing it with the brightest student at Hogwarts. They were a team. They worked together perfectly, finishing each other's sentences, filling in the blank spots if one of them got lost or confused amidst the facts. He hadn't been so happy for… well, for a very long time.

Catching sight of the clock for the first time, Severus flinched, then said calmly, "It's almost ten o'clock."

"Merlin's beard! It is!" Hermione exclaimed. "I haven't done any potions work tonight. You said – "

"Oh, I'll write your ruddy letter," he said, irritated that, first of all, they had spent three hours researching dark creatures and had still come to no firm conclusion about the nature of the nightmares, secondly that he had enjoyed it so much, and third that he had agreed to write Hermione's letter without making her work for it; that had been the deal. "Not until we figure this out, though," he added.

"We?" she asked softly, looking up at him with those gorgeous brown eyes.

He stared intently at her for a moment, then sighed. "Yes, we. You've dragged me into this mess, and now I can't rest until I know the answer."

A smile spread slowly across her perfect lips. Lips he could never feel again. "Thank you."

"Yes yes. Start cleaning up, it's late. We'll continue our work on Tuesday night."

"Tuesday?" she nearly whined. "But that's four days away! I can't work on it on my own, I need y… That is, I just think it goes… better, um, more easily and, ah, quickly, if we… work together."

Severus frowned at her for a long time, thinking. "If you come here too often, people may begin to… suspect something."

"Right," she said seriously. "But not if… they don't know I'm here. Right? I can come down tomorrow; I'll tell the boys I'm in the library, and if they look for me in there and don't find me, I'll say I went back to my room."

"Something that simple should be enough to fool them," he said pensively.

"Hey! They're my friends."

"Unfortunately. You could do a lot better, Hermione." He wanted so badly to stroke her cheek…

"I don't want to. I mean, no I couldn't. I mean… Augh! Why do you do this to me?"

"Do what?" he said, tapping a stack of papers into a neater pile, not looking at her.

"You know full well what. Stop insulting my friends." She gave him a hard stare until he turned to look at her.

"Fine. Don't be seen. I expect you at three." He handed the papers to her and started toward his office. The door clicked shut behind him before she could say anything more. Merlin. I get to see her again! She wants to see me again! Sure, they'd only be researching, unable to touch, to kiss… To kiss… Gods. Every second he could spare was spent re-living those kisses, imagining what would have happened if they could have continued. If only she was a few years older, or if she went to a different school…

But if wishes were hippogriffs, beggars would fly. It would be enough to be in the same room with her, to talk to her, to work with her. It had to be enough.


	12. Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

It was two-thirty. Hermione gathered her books together and nearly skipped down the stairs to the Gryffindor common room. Another two or three hours of researching with Severus! She couldn't think of anything else she'd rather be doing this afternoon. "I'm going to the library," she said, heaving the stack of books onto the table between Harry and Ron (they were actually doing homework!) so she could cast a feather-light spell on them.

"Looks like you've already got the whole library with you there," Ron said, moving his Astronomy chart to the side to peer at the titles along the spines. "Defensive Magical Theory," he read, "Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, Dark Creatures of Britain, The Real Monster Under the Bed… This isn't for class, what are you doing?"

"Extra credit work," she said shortly, piling the books back into her arms and heading toward the portrait hole.

"For who?" Ron asked.

"For whom," she corrected over her shoulder, and then the Fat Lady's picture swung shut behind her and she was alone in the peace of the chilly corridor. Though the grounds of Hogwarts were no longer covered in snow, it was still bitingly cold outside, so most of the students were in their common rooms studying, playing games or chatting. She nodded to a Hufflepuff prefect on the third floor, but otherwise saw no one on her way to the dungeons.

Hmm, she thought upon arrival at the Potions classroom door. Should I knock, or just go in? On one hand, it seemed rather silly, after what had happened between them, to remain so formal. On the other hand, they needed to remain formal so something like what happened Thursday night didn't happen again. Much as she wanted it to…

Shifting the books to one arm, thankful they weighed nearly nothing, Hermione raised a hand to knock, but the door swung open and her fist hit air. "Good afternoon," Severus said softly, gesturing her inside. "Were you seen?"

"Only by a Hufflepuff, but I don't even know him well, and in his eyes I was heading toward the library."

"Very good." He closed the door behind her and followed her in.

"You have some sort of alert on the door, don't you?" Hermione asked, setting the books on a table in the middle of the room and taking the spell off of them.

He looked surprised for a moment, then said, "Yes, actually. The doorknob glows when someone is just outside." He went to his desk and put a stack of papers he had been grading in a drawer. "You don't have to knock," he said quietly, not looking at her, "if you know I'm expecting you."

"What if you're not expecting me?" she asked, her voice soft but somewhat flirtatious. Her tone surprised even herself.

Severus cleared his throat. "Then I would prefer you knock." A few of his long, graceful steps and he was at her side. He smelled good, like wood smoke and harsh soap. She fought the urge to lean into him. "Shall we?" he asked.

"Hm? Oh, yes." She sat on a stool she pulled up to the desk and he sat beside her, not quite close enough to touch accidentally. Hermione was a bit disappointed at that, but knew it was for the best. Though she knew the next couple of hours would be torture, she was greatly looking forward to them. Just being near him, working with him…

"You're early," Severus commented as he took a book from the top of the stack and started skimming the table of contents for anything that may have been helpful.

"I wanted to get started." Hermione flipped open to a page she had marked in Dark Creatures of Britain and began to reread the chapter on boggarts. "I want to figure this out. I want to help Harry. And you." She chanced a glance at him and was a bit startled to find herself looking into his eyes.

"Why?" His gaze was gentle, his black eyes deep pools she was falling into.

"You know why," she whispered, looking away, staring at the book but not seeing the words. She knew full well he wanted her to tell him why, but she couldn't. She couldn't say it again. It had been hard enough to admit she had feelings for him the first time. Her heart pounded her ribcage and adrenaline shot through her body, clear to her fingertips and the roots of her hair.

"You shouldn't want to help me." Severus sounded rather… dejected, something she was entirely unaccustomed to hearing in his tone.

"I do, though." She looked over at him again and saw him open his mouth to reply, but before he could say anything, she added, "And if we're going to accomplish anything today, we'd better get with it." At that, she turned her full attention to the book in front of her.

An hour and a half later they'd still accomplished nothing past covering the tables around them with books and papers. "This is ridiculous," Severus exclaimed, throwing his quill down and splattering a stack of notes with ink. Hermione frowned up at him, but vanished the droplets without a word. "I'm going to get some more useful books." Hermione was hurt, for a moment, that he didn't think the books she'd found were good enough, but as she watched him stalk into his office and pull the door almost shut behind him, she realized that, being the Potions Master of Hogwarts and, indeed, one of the greatest Potions Masters in Britain, he would have a greater, more extensive collection of books pertaining to their subject.

A few minutes passed in which she halfheartedly took some notes on counter spells for dementors. He still wasn't back. Hermione realized she hadn't even heard any sounds from his office. "Severus?" She leaned to one side in order to see into the room, but the door was open a mere crack. "Sir?" Still nothing. She crept to the door and listened, but didn't hear even the rustling of turning pages. Taking a deep breath, Hermione pulled the door open and looked inside.

He wasn't there. But… where had he gone? She looked all around at the desk, the shelves on the wall which held books and jars full of slimy, pickled things. There was nowhere to hide. No other exit, no door in the walls or even the ceiling that she could see. She hoped he was all right.

Hermione began walking along the walls, feeling the stones for any crevices or hidden catches that might open a door. She knew there had to be something somewhere. She pressed here and there, checking the corners, knowing that Severus didn't just disappear. But even if there was a hidden door, where could it lead? The library? The restricted section, perhaps? She fingered a slight bump in a stone that was a slightly different colour than the rest – nothing.

Suddenly her hand shot through the wall behind his desk. The air behind it was cooler and slightly damp. It seemed her hand was in another room. Taking a last look around the office and drawing her wand out of her robe pocket, she stepped through into a narrow corridor, dimly lit by small torches high up. The walls were stone but the floor was dirt and it smelled rather musty. "Lumos," she whispered, and a silvery light glowed at the tip of her wand, illuminating the passage. "Severus?" she called softly. "Are you here?" It was perfectly silent. There was a wall at her back, but Hermione couldn't tell how far the corridor stretched ahead of her. Steeling herself for anything, she started down the passage.

...

The last book from the shelves in Severus' room was piled into his arms and he nearly groaned under their weight. He considered spelling them lighter, but he would be back in the classroom in a few moments; there was really no need for such a short trip. Shifting the pile so he could hold it more comfortably, he strode through the wall behind his desk and turned down the hidden corridor. There was a light ahead, and quiet steps. "Who's there?" he demanded, somehow managing to draw his wand while balancing the books against his chest with his right hand.

"S-Severus?" stuttered a small voice from behind the light. He realized it was Lumos at the end of a wand, and recognized the voice as Hermione's.

"What are you doing down here?" he asked, sweeping down the corridor and shrinking all the books to fit in the palm of his hand.

"I, I um, didn't see you, I mean, in your office – "

"Why were you in my office?" He was bearing down on her quickly and was soon just a few feet from her. He stopped and crossed his arms, glaring down at her.

"I… I'm sorry." Her eyes shone with tears. "I just, I didn't hear you and I… I wanted to… make sure you were okay." The last words were rushed together and said as she stared at the floor. Her eyes flicked quickly to the books in his hand. "Where does the passage lead?"

"That is none of your concern," he said, taking a step forward which caused Hermione to step backwards. When he saw her face, though, her eyes slightly bloodshot and her lips trembling, he relented. "If you must know, it leads to my private rooms."

"Oh." He could tell she was thinking. "That makes sense." Slowly they started back toward the other end of the corridor and appeared in the office a few moments later. "What's further down the hallway?"

"I don't know. Just past my room there is a sort of study decorated in reds and golds." He said the names of the colours disdainfully. "There was a big picture on the wall, a fireplace, a desk. I didn't bother to look past that."

Hermione let out an odd sort of squeak and put a hand to her mouth. "Are you all right?" he asked, half confused, half annoyed.

"Fine," she said quickly. "Do you need help with those books?"

"No, thank you." He opened the office door into the classroom and set them all on a desk where he unshrunk them. "Back to work then?"

...

Severus had informed Hermione that he had too many papers to finish grading Sunday, and Monday evening Hermione had a meeting with Ernie, so it was Tuesday night before she saw him again. "Did you find anything in Unusual Creatures?" Severus asked as she entered the classroom promptly at seven. He didn't look up from the papers spread across his desk.

"Yes, actually." Hermione was beaming at him. "Look." He stood as she approached his desk and lay a hand on her shoulder as she set a book down on its surface. "Severus," she moaned in a whisper, "please."

"My apologies," he said quickly, drawing his hand away and resting it on the edge of the desk. "I hardly noticed I did it."

Hermione was silent, wondering if he truly didn't notice how his palm had rested so naturally on her shoulder, or if he'd planned it and was lying about it. Did it matter? The contact sent shivers all through her body no matter the reason for it. "Um." She blinked several times, then opened the book. "I… I found out that there's a sort of… cousin of the boggart." Hermione pointed to a bit of text she'd highlighted with a spell (it would wear off when she returned the book to Severus, as it was from his private collection). "It shows up in dreams, but has the same effect a boggart would have."

Severus skimmed the paragraph, nodding. "I'd forgotten about those. Dream-boggarts, terribly clever name," he sneered. "There is an antidote for them, if you will allow me to find the book containing it without chasing after me."

Nodding silently, somewhat deflated, Hermione trudged to the desk in the corner of the classroom where she'd left the stack of books from Saturday afternoon and pulled one out of the stack at random.

"Hermione?" Severus' voice was soft behind her as he turned from the door of his office and walked toward her. "I'm… sorry… for my harsh words." It seemed to cost him a lot to say that, from the way he winced slightly and didn't look at her, but she was glad he'd said it nonetheless.

"It's all right," she said quietly. "I'm rather used to it." She took a seat at a desk near the back and started paging through it.

"Hermione." She looked up at him. "I truly am sorry." His face was grave, his eyes honest. "You have certainly given me no reason to act in such a way. I suppose…" He took a deep breath. "I suppose you… fluster me. I… do not know how to react in your presence."

Wow. "Ditto," she replied with a soft laugh. "What are we going to do?" Her words were barely audible and Severus had to step closer to hear her.

"There is nothing we can do," he said sadly.

Gods, she could smell him again. Not only smoke and soap, but something purely him, something unique and dark and earthy that was just Severus. "Right." She tilted her face upwards to meet his eyes and remembered when she'd splashed the pain relieving potion on her face not so long ago, how tender his thumb had been on the corner of her mouth. Then she remembered last Thursday, how urgently he had kissed her, how he nearly begged her not to leave. It was too much. She couldn't stay here, not if she wanted to keep her dignity intact, not if she wanted to keep her Head Girl position and, indeed, her position at Hogwarts school! "I've got to go," she muttered, brushing past him and hurrying out into the corridor.

"Hermione!" He was calling after her again, wanting her to wait, to stay… but she couldn't. She shouldn't.

"I'm sorry," she said over her shoulder, shutting the door behind her and trotting up the steps at the end of the hallway, her arms wrapped around her body, fighting back tears. It was too much, it was too hard! Why did this have to happen? Why did she have to fall for someone she couldn't have? There was an empty classroom on the first floor and she practically fell into it, slamming the door shut behind her and collapsing into a dusty chair, resting her head on her arms as she leaned over a desk, sobbing. Would it ever get any better? Would this feeling ever leave her?

...

Making sure he wasn't seen, Severus followed her out of the classroom and crept silently up the stairs and down the corridor behind her. He waited a moment after the classroom door slammed shut, then opened it quietly, slowly. "Hermione?"

"No, no, no," she said, shaking her head and turning away from him, hiding her face. "Go away, leave me alone. Forget about me."

"I can't." His voice shook as he pulled a chair close to hers, the metal legs scraping loudly on the stone floor. "How could I forget about you? It's like asking the sky to forget the stars." Where did that come from? he wondered.

Evidently it shocked Hermione as well, for she looked up at him, nose red, cheeks streaked with tears. "What?"

"I…" He looked down at the floor and folded his hands in his lap.

"I didn't know you could… you could speak like that." Her voice was full of wonder and… was it admiration?

"Nor did I," he muttered, rising and pacing back and forth across the small room.

"I don't want to stop working with you…"

"But?" He knew there was more to come.

"But…" She took a shuddering breath and tried to sit up straight. "But I don't know if I can. The… temptation… is so strong…"

Severus froze, gripping the windowsill for support, staring out into the dark night. He was a temptation for her? "I… understand," he managed to say, not turning.

"I… Oh, Merlin!" Hermione exclaimed, rising also and walking to the head of the classroom, leaning one shoulder against the cracked chalkboard. "Severus, you're… everything I've ever wanted!"

He whipped his head around. "What… what did you say?" he asked, voice trembling.

"I said you're everything I've ever wanted in… in a man." She gazed deeply into his eyes. He couldn't have looked away if it cost him his life. "I know of no one else who loves Potions as much as you do, and research, and… and just working on… things." She turned red and dropped her gaze to the floor. "You understand what it's like to love those things. You don't make fun of me for liking them. You… you know so much." She wrapped her arms around herself and Severus noticed she was shivering. "I want you to tell me all of it, everything you know about Potions and Defense and… and everything! Your life, your work… Merlin!" She broke down again, trying to muffle her sobs with her hand.

He'd never been any good at comforting. Severus stood frozen by the window, completely unsure of what to do. What he wanted more than anything else was to hold her. Was that right? Was that… comforting? There was only one way to find out. He walked toward her slowly, one hand stretched out to her. The second his fingertips touched her shoulder she fell into him and he barely managed to catch her, pulling her into his arms, staggering back a step as she hit him. Her arms twined about his waist and her breath was hot on his throat as she struggled to stop her tears. "Gods," he whispered, breathing in the scent of her hair. He closed his eyes rested his palms on her shoulder blades.

They stood like that for a very long time. Severus didn't move, hardly dared to breathe, except to stroke her hair, strands of shining silk beneath his fingers. Every once in a while she would adjust her arms around him or move her head and every new touch sent lightning through his blood.

"We can't do this." Hermione's soft voice broke him from the dreamlike state he'd been in.

"What?"

"We can't – "

"I heard what you said, but I thought – "

"I know." She stepped back, out of his arms. An overwhelming sense of loss filled Severus. "But we can't."

"Why not?" He knew it was ridiculous, that she was right, yet he couldn't just let her go like this, not again.

"There are so many reasons, Severus!" Her voice had a hint of panic to it, as well as exasperation.

"But we – " he cut himself off, not knowing how to finish the sentence. How could he finish it in a way that would make sense? But no, this wasn't fair! The only kindness, the only tenderness that he'd been shown for years, and it had to end like this? No! No, he wouldn't let it, wouldn't let her do this. He changed tactics. "Look me in the eyes," he said, taking Hermione by the shoulders, "and tell me you don't want to be with me."

"I don't," she said in a small voice, not quite meeting his gaze.

"You're lying!" He shook her gently. "Look at me, Hermione Granger, and tell me you don't want to kiss me." His eyes were frantic, searching her face for a flicker, anything.

"Severus," she whispered, looking into his eyes, but she could say no more, for his lips were pressed against hers, his arms were tight around her, pinning her against his body. She gave herself to him completely for a moment, returning his kisses as urgently as he gave them to her, parting her lips and allowing his tongue to flick in and taste hers, running her hands up his back, then moving one arm to rest her palm against his cheek, sending shockwaves through his body with her every move and every moan.

But then she stiffened, tried to pull away. "Severus," she gasped, but he pulled her back toward him, his eyes squinted shut, his whole body tense. His mouth was covering hers, some mad part of his brain telling him that if he didn't let her go, she'd come around eventually, she had to. "Severus! I can't – " But he held her tighter. Please, you have to come around, please don't leave me, please, Hermione, he begged in his mind.

"Professor Snape!" Her breathless shout finally brought him back to reality and he released her immediately, taking several steps backwards, his eyes wide. "Hermione," he breathed, "I'm so sorry, so very sorry."

"I…" Though Severus could see no external wounds, he felt he had bruised her somehow. "S-Severus…" Her eyes filled with tears once more and for the second time that evening he watched her run away from him, leaving the door to swing open behind her. Her footsteps echoed down the corridor. She was gone.

He shuddered and leaned against the wall, the stones cold on his back. Severus raised a hand to his mouth, almost doubling over with the shame of what had just happened. "What have I done?" he whispered.

...

Hermione slept very poorly that night, waking every hour or so only to stare at the numbers on her alarm clock until she fell back into a fitful sleep. She didn't dare drink the Sweet Dreams Syrup that still rested on her bedside table; she was too afraid of what might happen if she did. Instead, she dreamt about pale hands clutching at her in the darkness, covering her mouth, she couldn't breathe! She awoke with her head buried in the pillow. It was five in the morning and Hermione knew that after such a nightmare she couldn't get back to sleep. Pulling her gown on over her t-shirt, she slipped down the stairs to the common room. She had no homework to do, no studying. Somehow she couldn't bring herself to work on the nightmare problem for Harry and… him. So she sat staring out the window, watching the sun rise and trying not to think until students began to filter downstairs to the Great Hall for breakfast.

She picked at her food, eating half a piece of toast and drinking a little orange juice. Ron, of course, was oblivious, and Harry was too cheerful to notice. "It's working well, then?" she asked quietly during a lull in the conversation about their upcoming Magical Creatures class.

"The potion?" Harry muttered back. "Yeah, it's great, thanks!"

At least someone's happy, she thought as she swung her bag onto her shoulder and started for her first class. Too soon it was lunchtime (she managed a bit of soup and a roll) and after that came Advanced Potions. Severus – Professor Snape – What should I call him? she wondered, but was unable to come to a conclusion. He merely barked orders at them to turn to page 256 and brew the potion they found there. He didn't say a word for the rest of the class period, just bent over some papers on his desk which he occasionally made marks on.

"Miss Granger, stay after class. I must discuss your grade with you," he said almost listlessly as the students packed their bags and started for the door. Draco Malfoy snickered as Pansy Parkinson tucked herself under his arm. "Another detention, Mudblood?" he asked maliciously. She couldn't even bring herself to shoot him a dirty look.

When the classroom door closed behind the last student, Hermione approached the Potions Master. "Yes?" she asked, fidgeting with a book in her arms that she'd kept out of her bag for just that purpose.

"I would like to inform you that you are released from your bi-weekly Potions work for the remainder of the year. I shall write your letter of recommendation regardless. I wish you the best of luck, Miss Granger." He didn't look at her once while he said this, but gazed instead at a spot in the air just over her left shoulder.

"No," she said, moving a step closer to the front of his desk. "What about the nightmares, what about all our re – "

"I cannot allow you to continue working with me, Miss Granger."

"Then I would like to respectfully request the use of your classroom twice weekly in order to research further the – "

"Miss Granger – "

"Severus – "

"Don't! Don't call me that!" He looked at her for the first time since last night. "You deserve so much better. I'm sorry you ever got… got involved with me. Now please go."

"No! I will not go! If you won't allow me to use your books and things, I'll figure this out on my own! You don't understand, I've never failed at anything, never given up on something I was passionate about." The word gave her pause – passionate – but she resumed her speech after a moment. "I'll do whatever it takes to defeat… whatever it is that's been bothering Harry… and you." She set her jaw, determined not to back down.

Evidently he noticed this. After muttering something that sounded a lot like "Bloody Gryffindors" he nodded. "Very well. I expect you at seven on Friday night to begin brewing the antidote for the dream-boggart. Good afternoon."

Somewhat satisfied (she had won the argument at least), Hermione turned on her heel and didn't look back. She would conquer this. The nightmares and her feelings for Severus. She had to.


	13. Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

Two months of slow torture. Two months of no touches, no conversations beyond what was absolutely necessary to get along in their brewing. Two months of failed potions, failed charms and spells. Two months of pain and nearly sleepless nights. Though they both knew it was unhealthy, Severus dutifully doled out vials of the Sweet Dreams syrup for Hermione to give to Harry, though he never took it again himself. He didn't touch the elven journal, either. He was too afraid it would show him another entry from Hermione's diary, or something even more invasive.

Hermione. He couldn't go back to calling her Miss Granger, not after everything that had passed between them. They were not friends but were more than teacher and student; colleagues, he liked to think. Peers, almost. She equaled him in the art of potion-brewing and could someday, with the proper training, surpass him, he thought. As he restrained his thoughts about her body, he admired her intellect and skill, the way her slender fingers deftly handled the tools and ingredients. The glow from the cauldron fires illuminated her face, usually etched with shallow lines of concentration. At night his nightmares of the past were mixed with confusing dreams from the present. Severus watched himself hold Hermione in his arms many times. It was never more than that, always just holding her, sometimes in the forest, sometimes in his bed, sometimes in unfamiliar places. She always looked content and told him she felt safe. Those dreams helped him survive.

They had concluded, in their research, that Voldemort had somehow found a way to breed a dementor and a dream-boggart, creating a creature (or, more likely, a host of creatures) able to slip into the minds of those he sent them to and give them nightmares. After even more research, they were able to find (after several experiments) a way, they thought, to defeat the creatures. Now at last their prototype was ready. A cauldron full of cooling liquid sat on the table before them. It was a variation of the dream-boggart antidote combined with a protection potion; a spell for security was also said over it at the proper stage in brewing. "I'll test it." His were the first words spoken for over an hour and they reverberated around the empty classroom.

"Are you sure? Harry would – "

"No," he answered. "I'll do it." His tone brooked no argument.

Nevertheless, she tried. "Severus," she began, but he stopped her with a hand held up.

"Don't. Hermione, please don't." As if this exchange had not transpired, he went on. "As it is Friday, I shall test the potion tonight; if there are any adverse effects, which I do not anticipate, I shall have the weekend to recover."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she answered softly, ladling enough for one test dose into a glass vial. He hadn't seen her eyes, really seen them, for so long.

"If only," he breathed to himself. She did not hear. "Hermione," he said at the same time she said, "Severus…"

"Go ahead," he acceded.

She flashed him a small smile. He thought she looked tired. No, more than tired. Weary. "It… it has been a pleasure working with you."

"I highly doubt that."

"No, I mean it," she insisted. "Your knowledge and wisdom in the art of potions-making is…" She paused, searching for the right words. "Amazing. Truly, Severus. I'm… I'm glad to have known you."

Ah, Merlin. She was breaking his heart! "Thank you, Hermione." It was all he could do not to sweep her hair back from her face and pull her to him in a gentle embrace. "I feel the same about you." Bugger, that hadn't come out right. That brought back memories of their arguments over… No. Best not to dwell on it. "That is to say, you have been a most excellent pupil. I couldn't ask for a more apt student or capable partner. Thank you."

"Thank you," she responded, holding out her hand. Her soft, small hand, imbued with so many fantastic abilities. Severus took it in his own hand, worn rough and calloused from decades of brewing caustic potions, years of nicks and cuts, scrapes, scars, burns and abrasions. His life was written in his hands, and it was so much longer than Hermione's. She was so young, still so innocent. "Good luck, sir. Severus." Their eyes met and he could hardly bear to let her go.

When he did at last, she blushed deep red and hurriedly packed the few things she'd brought and spread out over the work tables. "Well."

"Well." Lovely, Severus, so eloquent, he thought. This felt like the end of something. He supposed it was; if the potion worked, they would have no more reason to meet. There were weeks of school still left. He wasn't sure he could stand to only see Hermione once a week in Advanced Potions class. They had been working together for so long and despite all the pain and confusion and heartache, he wouldn't trade those months for anything. "Come here tomorrow after the noon meal; I'll go over the results with you then." Another long pause. "Goodnight."

"Goodnight, Severus," she said in almost a whisper. Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and turned to the door. "And good luck." The look in her eyes was completely earnest. Those eyes haunted his thoughts long after the door had closed behind her.

...

Hermione noticed Severus was not at breakfast the next morning, but that was not unusual. There was no cause for worry. Indeed, there was no reason the potion shouldn't have worked perfectly. Weeks of research, careful planning, extensive research, all culminated in this potion. It was pale mint green with the opacity of milk. A bit darker and it would be a perfect Slytherin colour. Hermione smiled a little at the thought. Amazingly, Severus had stepped back and let her do the greater part of the work these past months. It wasn't through laziness on his part; she knew he wanted to see her succeed, to do it mostly on her own. He had acted much like an assistant and the role-reversal confounded her for a time. Once she became accustomed to it, Hermione realized that it was partly an act of penance for him. He was trying to make up to her for the way he had acted the past few weeks.

Physically shaking these thoughts from her mind, Hermione turned her attention back to her Transfiguration essay. In a few more hours she would know if all their hard work had been successful.

He was at lunch! Their eyes met three times during the meal, sending shivers through her whole body each time: once when he entered and sat at the head table, once when Hermione, bored with the boys' endless Quidditch talk, had glanced around the room, and once just as she finished eating. This last time he nodded to her, an minute movement of the head, and rose to leave. She gave him a few minutes to get to the classroom, then excused herself. Ron and Harry barely heard her, but for once she was glad of their neglect. She arrived at the classroom without seeing a soul and opened the door slowly so as not to startle him, even though she knew he was expecting her.

"Good afternoon." He rose from his desk to greet her, one of the many polite gestures she had become accustomed to from him these past weeks. He treated her as an equal now. She watched him come around to the other side of his desk and she approached him almost shyly.

"Afternoon." She couldn't stand it any longer. "How did it go?" Hermione hoped her voice wasn't too eager.

He paused as if in thought. "I shall say first, as you seem keen for the answer," she detected a hint of sarcasm – or was it amusement? – in his voice, "that our potion," Our potion! Hermione thought, "did indeed work. I slept my first full night in months without a single nightmare." A small smile painted his thin lips and she grinned at him. "However, as this marks the end of our… our work together," he seemed to have trouble speaking, "I… would like to invite you…" Merlin, he was really struggling! Hermione smiled encouragingly. "To, ah, well, to discuss the results in full in… my quarters. With tea." The last words seemed tacked on as an afterthought but she knew he must be exerting a great effort to phrase his invitation carefully.

Against her better judgment – who knew what could happen in his private rooms? – Hermione said, "I would like that." He relaxed visibly, the muscles in his neck and shoulders dropping down to their normal positions. He held the door for her and, as was his habit, locked it behind them. She was thankful that most students were still at lunch; not that anything bad or wrong was going to happen, but it wouldn't do for someone, especially a Slytherin, to see her following Professor Snape to his rooms.

As his door opened inwards, he preceded her into the room. Hermione hesitated for just a moment, then followed him in. He shut the door after her and she took in her rich surroundings. It was just as she remembered it from when she had come to get the first Sweet Dreams Syrup for Harry: books everywhere, a few cabinets full of potions, a desk, two armchairs facing the fire with a low table between them. "Please, have a seat," he said softly. As she took the chair with its back to the door – the other faced it at an angle – Severus hung a heavy kettle on a hook in the fireplace, lit a small blaze with his wand, and sat opposite her.

"So." She swallowed, a bit nervous at being alone with him. She'd been alone with him often recently, but never in such an intimate setting. This was quite different. "How did it go?"

"Exactly as we thought it would," he replied as he sat in the chair opposite her. "I took the potion just before I went to bed and slept the whole night through without a dream, though in the middle of the night I had the sense of something being destroyed. That would be the creature as it tried to enter my mind. The potion poisoned it, according to plan. I'm sure there are more either in or around the castle or elsewhere under the control of the Dark Lord, so Mr. Potter and I must take the potion every night for at least two more weeks to make sure we dispose of them all. If there are any that linger, or if the Dark Lord gets more, at least we have the recipe to brew a new batch."

"Thanks to you," Hermione smiled proudly.

"Mostly to you." Severus looked even more proud, in his cool, reserved way. She was glad he wasn't moping anymore. Not only had she felt bad for him, it made her feel awful for being the cause of his pain.

The kettle chimed gently, obviously the work of a spell. "I hate that shrill whistle," he said as he stood to levitate it off its hook and make it pour into two black mugs. After setting it on a trivet on a shelf near the mantle, Severus dunked two teabags into their cups and brought them along with cream, sugar, spoons and biscuits on a tray which he set on the coffee table. She took some of all and sat back with her hands wrapped around the mug for warmth. No matter how much time she spent down here, Hermione would never get used to the cold dungeon air.

Severus apparently noticed and built up the fire with a flick of his wand. "Thanks."

"Hermione," he said abruptly, setting his mug down on the tray.

"Mm?" She looked up at him.

"I am truly, deeply sorry. For everything."

"Severus, there's no need – "

"Yes, there is," he insisted. He was leaning forward a little, hands on his knees. "I had no right to pressure you to… What I mean to say is…" Severus squinted his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand.

"Severus," Hermione repeated even more softly. She reached out and lay her hand on his hand that still rested on his knee, but when his head snapped up she drew her arm back as if she'd been burned. "Sorry."

They sat in silence for a full minute, both caught up in their own thoughts and desires. "So no ill side-effects?" Hermione asked.

He blinked as if drawn back from someplace deep inside himself. "Hm? Oh, no. No, I'm fine, thank you."

Another minute of silence. The awkwardness manifested itself as a physical pain in her chest.

"Exams soon," Severus said. Hermione nodded. "Do you know what you want to do after graduation?"

"Something with Potions," she said quickly. "I'm thinking of…" She got quiet. "You'll think it's silly." She drew her teabag from the mug and lay in on the side of her saucer. The tea was still a bit weak but if she added a little more cream and sugar it wasn't too bad.

"I assure you, nothing you think is important is silly."

Goodness. "I… I want to sort of… experiment with combining potions and certain things having to do with Muggle medicine. Maybe."

"That sounds interesting," Severus said. "I was never very concerned with Muggle medicine, but I'm sure you'll do well with it."

"Thank you."

"Stop saying 'thank you.'"

"Sorry."

"And for Merlin's sake, stop saying you're sorry!"

"I'm s – All right."

"We are equals, Hermione. I look on you as a peer. Such formalities have no place between us, especially after all we've been through." He gave a bitter laugh, surprising her with his bluntness. "Don't look so surprised. I've been thinking it for weeks and so have you. Problems never go away if you ignore them. In my experience that usually only serves to make them worse."

She sipped her tea, sucking in air along with the hot liquid to cool it in her mouth. "Then by all means, let's get it out in the open." Hermione set the mug back down, crossed her legs and gazed levelly at him. Two could play this game.

...

Bugger. She had called him at his bluff. He had only said that in a desperate attempt to get her to leave and have no desire to return. It seemed the safest way – to hurt and embarrass her – but he should have known better. It hadn't worked before and it wouldn't work now.

Fine. If she wanted it that way, he would oblige her. Slytherin stubbornness would win over Gryffindor pride. "I want you." He lowered his voice a little; in this castle if you weren't being spied on by students or even faculty, you were often overheard by a painting or a suit of armor. He had neither in his rooms, but one could never be too careful. "I've wanted you for some time now and my longing has been fueled by the knowledge that you want me too, and not just as a potions-brewing partner."

Hermione sat in stunned silence. Well, he had succeeded. "S-Severus," she began, but he interrupted her.

"Your turn." His tea was forgotten as he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. Merlin's beard, she wasn't going to cry, was she? That wasn't what he had intended at all, though by the shining light in her eyes it seemed a very real possibility.

He saw her jaw clench for a moment. She was drawing her strength. Good. "I know you do. And I know that you are aware of my… feelings for you too. However, as there is no way we can act upon them, we have no other choice than to…" her voice rose half an octave, "to forget about each other. I'll be gone soon and we'll… move on."

"Indeed." Severus' voice was heavy and low; his game had gone too far and she was hurting. "Hermione," he said, kneeling at the side of her chair. He didn't touch her (though there was nothing in the world he longed to do more) but set his clasped hands on the armrest. "I'm sorry."

"Stop s-saying you're s-s-sorry," she managed to get out, struggling to keep her breathing even. He admired her for her control; not a tear had fallen nor a sniffle sounded. She even managed a weak, half-mocking smile.

"All right." Gods, he couldn't stand it. As he took both of her hands in both of his, two tears squeezed out from beneath her squinted eyelids and trailed beautifully down her smooth cheeks. A sob escaped her throat but she held the rest back, keeping her eyes shut against him, against the pain, against reality. "Hermione…"

"Don't." She shook her head vehemently, eyes still closed, brown curls flying. "Please don't." She gripped his hands tight, her skin soft on his. He would remember this feeling for the rest of his life: the heat radiating from her flushed face, the chill in her slender fingers, the delicate bones in them, the single strand of hair that lay across her lips, rising and falling with her breath, the way the collar of her blouse was just a little crooked, the feel of the rug beneath his knees.

He wasn't sure how long they stayed like this, he kneeling beside her and drinking in every detail, she with her eyes closed, struggling to keep back tears. "I should go," she said at last. He nodded dumbly but did not release her hands as she stood. He rose with her, rubbing his thumb over the back of one of her hands. She didn't move. "Maybe some day," she said, letting the statement hang in the heavy air.

"Maybe," he agreed. Could it be possible?

Hermione opened her eyes at last, staring up at him with a melted chocolate gaze. His guts dissolved at that look. He would do anything for her. "Goodbye, Severus," she whispered. As if in slow-motion, she stepped closer to him, wrapping her slim arms around his waist. His hands fell easily to the middle of her back, comfortable there. Her little body pressed gently up against him. This is heaven, he thought. What could be better than this? It was what he had been longing for. Don't leave, he wanted to beg. Don't leave me alone again! I need you! Soon she would be at university or in an apprenticeship and he would still be stuck in this school with the same idiots. Sure, he got new idiots each fall but they were all the same. She was different than all of them. She was special.

When at last she pulled back it felt like a part of himself had separated from his body; a hand, an eye. "Goodbye, Hermione." He couldn't turn and watch her go out the door. He barely heard it click shut behind her. All he heard was her soft breath against his shoulder, a sound only in his memory.


	14. Epilogue

Epilogue

"Night, Hermione!" Ron and Harry called out in chorus. She smiled as she climbed the stairs to her dormitory.

"Night, boys," she called back. "See you in the morning!" A little over twelve hours from now they would be Hogwarts graduates. She had rehearsed her Head Girl speech to Harry and Ron earlier in the common room, having memorized it several days ago. Her family would arrive on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow. The house elves had kindly pressed her graduation robe and it was laid out over a chair along with Lavender's and Parvati's. Her roommates were still downstairs at the pre-graduation party, but it was all a little too bittersweet for Hermione. She had mixed feelings about leaving Hogwarts and needed some peace and quiet to deal with them.

No small part of her confusion had to do with Severus Snape. During the last few weeks before the end of term they had reverted almost completely to their former teacher-student relationship. In class he didn't yell at her like he used to, nor make an example out of her if, through no fault of her own, she made a mistake, but of course he didn't treat her with any more deference than any of the other students either. For her part, she showed no outward signs of the turmoil within herself; her friends noticed no change in her manner and she was even sleeping better than she had been. Outwardly everything was going fine.

Inside, however, Hermione was still torn up over the whole situation with the Potions Master. He was a great man, a highly intelligent, rather impatient, very proud, quietly kind, very… tall… man. With a wonderful voice. And slender, talented hands. And shining black hair. And… Oh, it was no use! She couldn't forget him and knew she would never be able to. Were it not for the age difference and the fact that he was her professor (though only for one more day) they would be perfect for each other!

Wait. After tomorrow at one o'clock… he wouldn't be her professor anymore! Then they actually could…

But no. It could never work. If she started a relationship with a former professor – one that everyone hated, no less – what would her friends think? What about her family? It would look awful and everyone would suspect them of dating while she was still a student. What would they even talk about? Potions? That was really all they had in common. Their lives were so different: he had been raised in a pureblood, Slytherin family, she in a Muggle one. No.

Scratching Crookshanks behind his ears, Hermione sank down onto the edge of her bed with a heavy sigh. Her eyes fell on the small white jar that had sat on her nightstand for months. It contained one dose of Sweet Dreams Syrup. What could it hurt? she thought as she picked it up and turned it around in her hand. It's just a dream. Not real. No one would know. A sort of final farewell. Her mind was made up. After setting it back on the table, Hermione dressed for bed and slipped under the covers. Severus Snape, she thought as she flipped the lid off the bottle and gulped its contents. The purple liquid was warm as it trickled down her throat and she immediately felt calm and cozy. Severus, she thought, Severus, Severus, Severus. Her eyes closed and she settled further into the blankets.

There was a great green field stretching out before her…

...

They would all be gone tomorrow. The castle would be silent once more. For Severus, though, it had been silent for some time. Without her voice to fill and warm it, Hogwarts – and more specifically, his dungeon – was cold and empty. Without the light of her eyes and the sheen of her hair, it was dark. Without her hands and lips and smile, it was lonely.

He might never see her again. She would go off to university and surely do great things to further the world of potion-making and perhaps even medicine, and he would be left at the school, stuck in a job he despised in a dark, dank dungeon. It was no more than he deserved. And she deserved so much better than him. She with her springy brown curls and laughing eyes. She was a beautiful girl with the highest intelligence in the student body, small, skilled hands, a head full of ideas, a perfect… petite… body. With a soft, gentle voice. And thick, full hair. And lush pink lips. And… Oh, it was no use! He couldn't forget her and knew he would never be able to. Were it not for the age difference and the fact that she was his student (though only for one more day) they would be perfect for each other!

Wait. After tomorrow at one o'clock… she wouldn't be his student anymore! Then they actually could…

But no. It could never work. If he started a relationship with a former student – one that everyone knew and loved, no less – what would his colleagues think? What about Dumbledore? It would look awful and everyone would suspect them of dating while she was still a student. What would they even talk about? Potions? That was really all they had in common. Their lives were so different: she had been raised with a muggle family, was a Gryffindor, and he was a pureblooded Slytherin. No.

Setting his book down he rose from the chair with a heavy sigh. His eyes fell on the potions cabinet, to the second shelf where a small amount of Sweet Dreams Syrup was. There was just enough for one dose. What could it hurt? he thought as she went to the cupboard and removed the little bottle. It's just a dream. Not real. No one would know. A sort of final farewell. His mind was made up. After setting it on his nightstand, Severus undressed for bed and slipped under the covers. Hermione Granger, he thought as he took the cork from the vial and gulped its contents. The purple liquid was warm as it ran down his throat and he immediately felt relaxed and sleepy. Hermione, he thought, Hermione, Hermione, Hermione. His eyes closed and he settled further into the blankets.

There was a great green field stretching out before him…

...

At opposite ends of a beautiful grassy field, two figures stood. They sighted each other and walked slowly to meet in the middle. The sun shone in a cloudless sky and a gentle breeze blew wildflowers against stalks of tall grass.

"Hello," she said when they were only a few feet away from each other.

"Hello," he replied, holding out his hand. She took it and they walked leisurely down a dirt path that suddenly appeared at their feet.

"I'll miss you," she said, her voice small and sad. They stopped and he wrapped his arms around her small form.

"I'll miss you too," he admitted. He breathed in the scent of her hair, lilacs and apples.

"Do you love me?" she asked.

He was silent for a moment. "I think I could."

"I think I could love you too." He kissed her forehead and they walked on, hand in hand in silence.

At length, they came to the edge of a forest. The warm breeze stopped but the sun still shone as brightly as ever. "I don't want to part like this," she said.

"We must," he replied. He held out his other hand and she laced her fingers with his. He tugged gently and she stepped even closer. Once more his arms went around her. She inhaled his scent, wool and wood smoke. "Goodbye," he whispered, tilting her chin up and pressing his lips to hers. The kiss lasted an eternity, turning their insides to water, setting their pulse racing.

"Goodbye," she whispered when they finally parted. She stepped backwards but held his hands as long as she could. Their eyes locked. Only their fingertips were touching, then they were alone.

They turned in unison. She walked one way along the edge of the forest, he walked the other way.

Neither of them looked back.


End file.
